Perdition
by emathews
Summary: Multi-chapter zombie AU because 'tis the season, and also what self-respecting fandom doesn't have ONE zombie AU?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Welp, this is sort of on-a-whim type of post due mostly to the sheer lack of fics for Starfighter, which is just SOSAD. So, uh, helping? Will post more soon!

-E

Perdition: Part I

Ethan grunted as the gun went off, kick hitting him hard in the shoulder. Something cold and sticky splattered across his face as another body dropped to the ground. He didn't pause, just refocused and pulled the trigger again, shot going wide, dead, mutilated bodies still lurching toward him as he cursed and took aim once more. This one hit its mark, another head blasted apart, another corpse hitting the ground. Re-aim, pull, kick, re-aim, pull, kick, over and over until he re-aimed—sights focused on a woman with lank brown hair and virtually no clothes—pulled the trigger, and felt the gun jam.

"Fuck," Ethan said, pulling once more, but that was it. He was officially out of ammo. _"Fuck,"_ he muttered again, dropping the gun and pulling out a knife instead, glancing over his shoulder as he took a few steps back.

His shoulders hit a shelf and a few packaged foods fell to the ground, crunching under his feet as he tried to edge around the shelf and keep the zombies at bay. He had barely a moment to feel hot breath on his neck before one of them grabbed him from behind and pulled him down. Ethan struggled, swinging the knife back over his shoulder and cutting rotting skin, but it didn't seem to have any effect. Finally, he managed to pry the hands off him, snap of bone and tear of flesh and Ethan felt his stomach roll and he crawled away, only managed to go a few feet before he was dragged back again, kicking, unable to stop fighting even when he knew he was outnumbered.

"Stop, stop, stop," he said, kneejerk reaction, no effect whatsoever on the four living corpses crawling over him, pulling at his arms, faces leaning in to bite. He still had hold of the knife, managing to slash a few across the face and neck, wounds opening but no splash of blood, too dead even for that, too congealed and blackened.

When one of them held down his arms, Ethan knew that was it. He kicked out, managed to catch one of them in the head and reel it back, but it recovered fast. They all did.

More putrid breath hot on his forehead and Ethan closed his eyes, knife falling out of his lax fingers. Sharp teeth grazed his cheek.

A gunshot, and suddenly the teeth were gone. He could smell something fresher than dead, rotting flesh again. More shots and the restricting grip on his arms was lifted. Ethan breathed out, waiting, but when nothing else happened, he opened his eyes.

He found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, a dark-haired man standing over him, arms steady.

"Wait!" Ethan said, holding up his hands. "Wait, wait, I'm not—I'm not infected. Don't shoot."

The other snorted, one side of his mouth curling up, head tilting to the side. "Uh-huh. Sorry, sweetheart, can't take that chance."

"No, no!" Ethan's eyes widened as he watched the hand near the trigger tighten. "Please, I'm not lying. You can—you can search me."

Black eyebrows rose. The gun lowered by just a fraction. "I can what?"

"Search me," Ethan repeated, sitting up, heart beating fast. "I swear, I'm clean."

Dark eyes surveyed him for a long moment before the other shrugged. "All right. Stand and strip."

Ethan blinked, face flushing. "I—what?"

"You want to live, you better show me how clean you are."

Ethan swallowed, mouth gone dry. "I just thought—"

"Tick-tock, baby, I got places to be. You want to die or don't you?"

When Ethan still didn't move, the man raised the gun again, sighing. "Shame. I could've done with a show. Close your eyes, sweetheart, and I'll make it fast."

"No wait!" Ethan said, raising his hands again. "I'll do it—please, don't shoot." He watched warily as the gun remained trained on him, getting slowly to his feet. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, distracted by the bodies scattered around him, the dried blood and bits of brain on his hands.

He slipped his shirt off, glancing up in time to watch the other lick his lips, dark eyes roving over Ethan's chest, the gaze as heavy as a touch. Ethan's hands shook as he unbuttoned his pants—when was the last time he had eaten? He couldn't remember. That was the reason he had gone into the convenience store in the first place, and now he was severely regretting that decision.

He pushed his jeans down, belatedly toeing out of his shoes and stepping out of the pile of clothes. And then there was only one thing left.

The man raised his gaze to Ethan's face, lips curling into a smirk, gun still at the ready, butt resting against his shoulder. "Well? You too shy, baby? How do I know you weren't bitten down there?"

Ethan clenched his teeth, breathed out hard through his nose. "How would I get bitten—"

"Maybe you got one of those" —he jerked the barrel of the gun toward the bodies on the ground— "to give you a happy ending before they dug in."

"They're not smart enough," Ethan muttered. He leaned down to pick up his shirt, hadn't completed the action before booted feet stepped in front of him, the mouth of the gun pressed to his chest.

"I'll do it," the other said; quiet, voice smooth and dark and so very, very serious. "Don't think I won't."

Ethan didn't doubt that for a second. He straightened up again, face hot, pushing his shorts down to his feet as well. All at once, the man's eyes lowered, breathing out. He took his time looking, no shame in it, gun still at the ready.

"See?" Ethan snapped, starting to reach down again, but the man stopped him.

"Turn around."

"_What_? No! You just saw—"

The other pressed the gun harder against Ethan's chest. "I _said_, turn the fuck around."

Ethan stepped back, foot slipping on a chunk of blonde hair from one of the fallen figures. Ethan glared at the man, feeling completely exposed, wary of turning his back on someone holding a gun to him, but he didn't see what choice he had. He turned, slowly, hairs on the back of his neck standing up, ears straining for any sound of movement behind him.

"You've got a sweet ass, baby, anyone ever tell you that before?"

Ethan flushed hot, crossing his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat, tried to find something to say but couldn't. Didn't matter when the other said, "What's your name?"

Ethan glanced over his shoulder, found that the gun was pointing at the ground, no longer a threat. He turned back to face the man, crouching down to pull his clothes back on, hot gaze following him the whole time.

"Ethan," he said. "What's yours?"

The other gave him a cold look; calculating. "You can call me Cain."

Ethan frowned, buttoned his jeans and dropped his gaze. _Cain. Yeah, right._ Ethan wasn't dumb, knew how guarded people were nowadays, now that everything was ending. Couldn't even give a real name; too reminiscent, too many memories attached. Cutting ties was a lot easier when you didn't have any.

The tinkling bell of the door broke the silence just after Ethan got his shirt back on. They both crouched down, peering through the slats of the shelves as two more people stumbled in. Ethan licked his lips, reaching for his gun before he realized that it wouldn't do him any good anyway. He glanced to his right, toward Cain, then looked around in confusion at the empty space beside him. The back door to the supply room was just swinging shut by the time Ethan glanced at it.

"Damn it." He whirled around, grabbed his gun off the floor, pushing aside the limp body lying partially atop it, and hurried after Cain.

He found him perched on top of a stack of boxes, smashing the butt of his gun against the small, dirty window. Cain glanced out and dropped his gun out the window, hoisting himself through a moment later. He had just disappeared from view when the supply room door opened again.

Ethan rushed after him, scurrying up the stack of boxes, dropping his gun out the window as well, then carefully pulled himself through it. He glanced down when he was just hanging there, judging the distance to the ground. It was a few feet, but it wasn't as though he could back out. He shifted his grip on the window a bit, preparing himself. His palm caught on a jagged piece of glass and Ethan gasped, grip loosening. He hit the ground hard, glass cracking under his feet as his knees buckled, little zinging shockwaves zipping up from his heels.

He gritted his teeth, stumbling against a nearby wall. When he glanced up, he could just see Cain's dark head far in the distance, heading toward the city. Ethan grabbed his gun, didn't let his aching joints slow him down, and followed.

He caught up with Cain just as he was passing through a chain-link fence, cracking the rusted lock with the rifle and pulling the chains apart, slipping through the gates. Ethan pushed through just behind him, startled back when suddenly Cain turned on him, gun raised.

"The _fuck_," he said, lowering the gun when he caught sight of Ethan's face. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I—" Ethan bit his lip. "I'm coming with you."

Cain stared at him for a long moment. "No, you're not."

Ethan gaped. "Why not? You just—you saved my life."

Cain clenched his jaw and turned away. "Yeah, well you're fucking welcome. Now get lost."

He started to turn away but Ethan grabbed his arm. "Why? I could help, we could team up, we could—" He broke off and stumbled away as Cain forcibly jerked his arm free. He spat on the ground at Ethan's feet.

"Fuck off."

Ethan watched Cain walk away, black hair tangled and lifting slightly in the breeze. The first human Ethan had seen in weeks, the first one he had talked to in—God, how long had it been…months?—and he was just watching him walk away. Ethan wasn't stupid, he understood. He knew how hard it was to get close to someone and then watch as they were turned, the knowledge that it was only a matter of time before you had to kill them to make sure you could stay alive. But still…still…how was he supposed to let another piece of humanity walk away, especially when there was so little of it left?

Ethan glanced around at all the empty buildings, the wilted shutters. So many living corpses, so many eyes that could be on him right now, waiting for a chance to strike….

Ethan took a breath, Cain still within hailing distance but getting steadily farther out of reach. Maybe Ethan would regret it, when one of them was just a bit too slow, a bit too stupid or careless and they had to be left behind…maybe. But right then Ethan was so desperately lonely that he wasn't even sure why he was still fighting anymore.

So he made Cain stop in the only way he knew how because that's how he had got the others to stay with him too, even though none of them had worked out. "I have a car."

And just like the others, Cain paused at the chance of a way out, a chance for something better. He shouldered the gun and then glanced back, that calculating look back, hard and searching. "Come here, then," he said, and kept walking.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wahhh apologies, this is rough and choppy but I'm just going to roll with it. Also, I have no idea how long this is going to be; all I can say is that the plot rattling around in my head has already gotten WAY out of hand. Anyway, thanks so much for reviewing! Enjoy!

-E

Perdition: Part II

"You little _shit_!"

Ethan gasped as Cain shunted him up against the wall, forearm pressed hard against Ethan's throat, face pinched and close. "You said you had a car!"

"I do," Ethan wheezed, hand around Cain's wrist and trying to push him away. "I do—it is—it just…it doesn't run…yet."

Cain backed up, letting Ethan slump against the wall as he turned to survey the car. Ethan could admit that it didn't look like much; rusted and mismatched, some parts black, other an ugly tan Ethan had found it in an abandoned warehouse, mostly disassembled but with a few good parts left.

"I've been working on it," he said as Cain opened the hood and ducked his head under. "I'm—I used to be an engineer."

Cain snorted, slammed the hood shut and then leaned against it, back to Ethan. "An engineer? Great, so go build me a fucking bridge, the fuck do you know about cars?"

Ethan swallowed. "A mechanical engineer," he said, carefully sitting on the hood beside Cain and glancing at him.

Cain didn't answer, dug around in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a bent cigarette. He straightened it out and lit it, taking a drag. "You been working on this all by yourself?"

Abel blinked. "I—yeah. I mean, I've had help, sometimes."

Cain looked at him, thin stream of smoke curling toward the ceiling, cigarette tucked between long fingers. "Oh yeah?" His lips wrapped around the end again, breathing in, tip glowing orange. "Your boyfriend?" he asked, blowing smoke in Ethan's face.

Ethan turned away and coughed, glancing back over his shoulder just long enough to find Cain still watching him. "I don't—I never—" He took a breath, going a bit lightheaded at the heavy smoke still floating around them. "Just some…friends."

Cain's eyebrows rose. He tapped the end of the cigarette and watched the ash fall to the concrete floor. "Friends," he murmured. "You get 'em killed?"

Ethan startled, mouth gone suddenly dry. "N—no," he said, no finesse whatsoever, no chance of convincing anyone.

"Tch." Cain stood, dragging on the cigarette once more, chest expanding. He leaned against the warehouse wall, chipped paint falling on his shoulders as he surveyed Ethan. "Should have shot you when I had the chance."

The creak of a wooden beam drew Ethan's attention. He jerked and glanced up, watching a pigeon settle in the rafters. He relaxed again. "You still can."

He lurched back when Cain grabbed his arm, cigarette falling to the ground. "You got a death wish, sweetheart? If you do, you better tell me now. Car or not, I'm not dying for anybody, you got that?"

Ethan glanced down, took a shuddering breath, but Cain drew his attention when he shook his arm, hard, rattling Ethan against the car.

"Hey!" he said. "Do you fucking hear me?"

Ethan shrank back, gaze still averted, and suddenly there was a hand at the front of his pants, fingers gripping the waistband and hauling Ethan straight off the car and onto his feet.

"What're you—"

"You listen to me, baby," Cain said, teeth gritted, lip curled. "If you fuck me over, you throw me to those fucking _trupy_*, I'll kill you. Put a bullet in your brain or snap your neck, whatever. You get me?"

Ethan could feel Cain's hand on his arm, Cain's knuckles scraping against his belly, the burning flush on his face and neck. He nodded. Cain's eyes roved his face for another moment before he pushed Ethan away, letting him collapse back against the car again.

"So you got a plan?" Cain asked, retrieving the cigarette from the floor and putting it back in his mouth, the end still glowing.

Ethan did have a plan, but he was suddenly feeling a lot more uneasy about telling Cain about any of this. None of his other partners had been so unstable. "I think…you should go," he said.

Cain's eyes flicked up, dark irises steady on Ethan's face. He tilted his chin up and took the cigarette out of his mouth again, looking down his nose at Ethan. "Oh really?"

He stepped forward. Ethan couldn't help himself from scrambling off the car and backing up, putting it between himself and Cain. The zombies were too slow and stupid to ever look predatory, but Ethan had been on edge for years now, since everything went wrong, since the remainder of earthlings had been given an experimental new treatment that would ward off most diseases and lengthen lifespans—because no one had the good sense to predict _that_ would be a bad idea.

So when Cain took a step forward, lithe and long and so very, very destructive, Ethan wasn't familiar with the unadulterated, human fear that look inspired in him. He was used to the fear of something cold and lifeless and unholy, like looking down into a manhole and watching the light slowly disappear. This was a different fear; the fear that he was suddenly caught in the headlights, with nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

Cain took another step forward, dropped the cigarette to the ground again, crushing it under his boot as he started to round the front of the car.

"Don't," Ethan said, hands out, eyes flicking to the right where Cain's gun was propped against the wall, out of his reach. "Just—just go."

"No," Cain said, ignoring the gun and stepping toward Ethan again. Ethan stepped back, forgot until he hit it that there was a wall just behind him.

Cain twisted a hand in the front of Ethan's shirt and pulled him forward again. "You're gonna help me get out of here," he said. "You're gonna fix this car and we're gonna get the fuck out of this shithole and go someplace where there aren't zombies waiting around every corner."

Ethan swallowed, breath coming fast, Cain's fist hard against his breastbone. "And—and you? What're you going to do?"

Cain smirked and let Ethan go. He stepped back and slowly picked up the rifle, eyes on Ethan the whole time. "I'm gonna make sure my ticket out of here doesn't get eaten."

And Ethan still didn't trust him, still thought Cain was too unstable, but he was out of people to turn to, had gotten all the others killed, just like Cain had said. So he hesitated, and then nodded, slowly edging around Cain to inspect the engine of the car, and see what else needed to be done.

#

"Hose," Ethan muttered to himself, eyes darting between the paper in his hands and the engine compartment in front of him. "Gasket, spark plug, camshafts, belts, piston rings…." He sighed, eyes running down the dozens of other little things that he needed. He had been lucky enough to find a car with a mostly-functional engine, yet still some parts were missing or needed replacements. The problem now was where he would find them.

He jumped at the sudden sound of a gunshot nearby, whole body tensing, the list crunching between his fingers as his hand clenched. "Cain?"

There was no response. At some point while Ethan had been inspecting the engine, Cain had wandered off. Ethan glanced up as another pigeon landed in the rafters, his eye caught by a patch of pink sky by an open hatch in the ceiling. Ethan walked toward it, eyes scanning the rows and rows of boxes and metal shelves around him, but he still didn't see Cain.

Ethan paused in front of a ladder built into the wall, looked up again at the open hatch when the gun discharged again. He started climbing, the metal rungs cold and firm under his hands, finally hoisting himself up onto the tin roof of the warehouse. Cain was on the far side, legs hanging over the edge, gun at the ready, pointed down onto the street, stream of smoke curling above him.

He pulled the trigger once more as Ethan folded himself down next to him. Ethan glanced over the edge toward the darkening street and the few lurching figures that were slowly revealing themselves. Cain took aim and pulled the trigger again, dropping the nearest one to the ground.

"The noise is just going to bring more of them," Ethan said.

Cain didn't say anything, just shot another, then relaxed for a minute to take the cigarette out of his mouth. "Let's go."

Ethan looked at him quickly. "Go? Go where?"

Cain gave him a look, tapping ash off his cigarette. "You plan on staying here for the night, sweetheart?" His eyes roved up and down Ethan's body before he looked back toward the street. "You'd freeze before morning."

"I've stayed here before," Ethan said, stung. "I've managed this long without dying, I think I know what I'm doing."

Cain snorted, took aim again, one eye closing. "Yeah, I'm sure you do."

Ethan watched him, scowling, tried to find the right thing to say. In the end, all he could think of was, "How do you propose we get past them?"

Cain pulled the trigger. Another one fell. "Why don't you let me worry about that, baby."

"I have a place," Ethan said, thinking of his dinky makeshift apartment all the way uptown. Only place he could find that was high enough up with enough locks on the door that he felt safe enough to sleep most nights.

"We're going to mine," Cain said. "Come on." He stood, paused just long enough on the edge of the building to shoot one more, before he turned and headed back toward the hatch, footsteps loud against the metal roof.

Ethan hesitated before following him down the ladder. He went back to the car to pick up his list and smooth it out, tucking it into the pocket of his jeans. He grabbed his gun and then glanced at Cain.

"I'm out of ammo,' he said.

Cain breathed out hard, teeth clenched. "Then stay close and don't do anything fucking stupid."

Ethan watched as Cain loaded a few more cartridges into his rifle. "Can't you just—"

_"No."_ Cain snapped. "Fuck, what now I gotta do everything for you? Just shut the fuck up and let's go."

Ethan pressed his lips together and followed as Cain slid open the warehouse door and stepped outside. He did as Cain said, staying close to his side as he started down the street, eyes darting between alleyways and darkened doorways.

"Where do you live?" Ethan whispered.

Cain didn't look at him, eyes following movement in the shadows that turned out just to be a stray cat. "Shut up," he replied.

Ethan forewent any other conversation after that, preferring instead to stick close behind Cain and hold his gun at the ready even though he knew he wouldn't be able to defend himself any better than if it was pointing at the ground.

They continued for a few minutes, passing a handful of zombies who were so slow that Cain didn't even bother shooting them, just kept on walking right past them.

Ethan had just opened his mouth to ask how much farther they needed to go, for night had well and truly fallen, when a low groan came from an alley to their right. Cain's footsteps faltered and then quickened, eyes fixed hard on the shadowed backstreet. Ethan was close enough to his side that he could hear Cain's breath come faster.

"What is it?" he asked.

Cain stayed silent, still walking fast past the alley. Then suddenly he swung around, whirling to the left, refocusing on two figures that had appeared out of nowhere. Ethan didn't know how Cain had even heard them coming.

Cain turned, nearly hit Ethan in the face with his outstretched arm, but Ethan managed to jerk back in time. He glanced behind himself when Cain's eyes widened and saw another three corpses heading toward them. When he faced front again, back toward the direction they had been walking, he saw more people closing in on them, forming a circle around them.

Ethan licked his lips. His empty, useless gun felt heavy as a block of lead in his hands. What good would it be now?

"Hey," Cain said.

Ethan glanced up, felt himself shaking. Even after all this time he was terrible at this, had never managed the fight well.

"You listening?" Cain asked. His eyes were darting from person to person, gun poised, finger quivering against the trigger.

Ethan nodded, then said, "Yeah."

"You see the redhead?" Cain said, eyes darting to the figure in question.

Ethan followed his gaze, found the lank, fiery red hair. "Yeah."

"I'm killing her first," Cain said. "When I do, run."

"Run where?" Ethan said, mouth gone dry, eyes searching Cain's profile. "What about you, what're you going to—"

"Ethan, shut the fuck up."

"But I—"

Just like that, Cain's finger tightened on the trigger. The redhead's face was blasted apart, strings of orange hair flying in every direction, along with long ropes of congealed blood and bits of brain.

Ethan jolted, frozen in place for a long moment before Cain grabbed his arm and threw him around, making him stumble toward the collapsed girl. Then he started running, another few shots echoing behind him, cold fingers grazing his arms as he darted through the slow-forming crowd. None of them had enough dexterity to hold him, but all it took was a few more and they could outnumber him, and Ethan still only had one knife, the only way for him to fight back.

He stopped running when he reached a fork in the road, once more zombies had stopped appearing out of every back alley. He was still deep in the city, nothing but tall buildings on either side of him, all pitch black. Years later and Ethan still couldn't get used to the silence of the city, the fact that he could see so many stars or the faint outline of the Milky Way above him. It was still so unnatural, so unnerving.

He looked behind him, back the way he had come, but he couldn't see or hear Cain, couldn't see or hear anything but the creak of buildings and the hollow _whoosh_ of wind. Ethan shivered and looked for an acceptable place to rest for a moment, somewhere where he could cover most of his angles and still watch for Cain's approach.

He let out a deep breath, relaxing against the brick wall of an abandoned office building. The front window was somehow still intact, chipping paint spelled out _Liard Rosch Attorney at Law._ Ethan wondered if he was gone now, shipped away out to the stars to be with the other well-to-doers. His parents were out there, safe and sound on some faraway planet, maybe looking at a projection of Earth right now, thinking of their son, who they surely thought was dead….

Someone bloomed out of the darkness, skirting around the corner of the building across the street. Ethan blinked and straightened away from the wall, watching the shape grow larger. It was moving quickly, though, quicker than Ethan had ever seen a zombie move before. He had just raised his useless gun when the person moved into a shaft of moonlight. Ethan let out a shaky breath and lowered the gun again.

"Cain," he said, then caught sight of his bloody arm. He took a step back. "What happened?"

"Nothing, come on." Cain grabbed his arm and started dragging him forward, but Ethan resisted, raising his gun.

"Were you bitten?" he asked. He scanned the blood-stained tear in Cain's jacket, searching for flesh, and indication of what had happened, but it was too dark, too much clothing in the way.

One side of Cain's mouth curled up. Ethan thought he could make out a bruise forming on his jaw. "What're you planning on doing with that, baby? You said yourself you don't have any ammo."

"Were you bitten?" Ethan asked again, voice rising.

Cain knocked the rifle aside, sent it skidding onto the road. "_No_, I wasn't fucking bitten. One of the fuckers got me with a knife."

"What?"

Cain snorted. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, his gun tucked safely under his arm. "Yeah. Turns out some of them are smarter than they look. Go figure."

Ethan frowned and then slowly bent to pick up his gun again. Cain was watching him when he straightened up, but Ethan just shouldered the rifle. "OK."

One of Cain's eyebrows twitched up, he took a drag on the cigarette and then stubbed it out against the wall, slipping it back into his pocket. "OK." He turned and started on down the street. Ethan took a breath and followed.

Cain led him into what used to be the slums of the city, the neighborhoods where most of the riffraff had lived, the ones who had been left behind.

Cain shouldered open the door to an apartment complex and started up the stairs. The building was dirty and fraying, and looked as though it had seen better days, but there was fairly little stench, no blood on the floor or walls. Ethan wondered how they had managed to keep the zombies away.

On the fourth floor landing Cain led Ethan out of the stairwell and down a narrow hallway, digging a key out of the pocket of his jeans and unlocking a door marked 49 in brass numbers.

"Does anyone else live here?" Ethan asked, looking down the long hallway, illuminated only by what little moonlight could penetrate through a tall, grimy window.

Cain got the door open and stepped into a pitch-black room. "Not anymore."

Ethan stepped in after him, closing the door but sticking close to it, letting his eyes adjust. A click and suddenly a light burst in the darkness, Cain's lighter flicking on. He walked around the room lighting candles, until the whole apartment was illuminated; rickety furniture and boarded windows. It was messy, but homey.

"How'd you find this place?" Ethan asked.

Cain strode toward him, pressing Ethan back against the door, close and intimidating. His hand lifted and Ethan felt himself tense, eyes locked on those long fingers. "Relax, baby,' Cain said. He flicked the lock closed to the door and then slowly stepped away.

He kept his eyes on Ethan as he shucked off his jacket and tossed it onto a small kitchen table. He examined his cut arm and then stripped his shirt off as well. Ethan stayed pressed to the door, watching all that tanned skin pass him by and head toward the kitchen. Cain threw open a cabinet door and pulled out a nearly-empty bottle of vodka. He settled himself at the kitchen table and then glanced toward Ethan.

"You just gonna stand and stare all night?"

Ethan flushed and shifted against the door, didn't stay anything.

"Come here," Cain said.

Ethan glanced up, watched Cain take a swig straight out of the bottle, his throat working in the soft light. He didn't move.

"Come on," Cain snapped. "You want to touch so bad then get the fuck over here."

Ethan stepped away from the door, walking toward Cain, couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this, this filled with anticipation. Cain just watched him come, tilting his head back when Ethan was standing right in front of him. He pushed the bottle into Ethan's hand and Ethan frowned, starting to lift it to his lips.

Cain smirked and caught his wrist, leading it back down, toward his arm, and Ethan understood. He leaned over, resting one hand on Cain's hot shoulder as he looked at the long horizontal gash on Cain's arm. Definitely not a bite. Ethan felt a little bit of tension ease out of him at the sight. He glanced up, Cain watching him closely, eyes hooded, then he tilted the bottle, letting the clear liquid run down Cain's arm. Cain didn't make a noise, but Ethan saw his teeth clench, jaw squaring.

"Sorry," Ethan murmured, watching the blood run down Cain's arm, clenched his own teeth to distract himself.

Cain put a finger on his chin, making Ethan meet his gaze. "Queasy, sweetheart?"

"'M fine," Ethan said. He found a clean-looking towel on the kitchen counter nearby and wrapped it around the cut on Cain's arm, tying it and tucking in the ends.

He stepped back after that, putting the bottle carefully on the table and looking away, unsure what to do with himself. He saw Cain stand out of the corner of his eye, saw him pick up the bottle again and move toward Ethan. "Here."

Ethan shook his head, waved the liquor away.

"Drink it," Cain said, pushing it into his hands again. "Gonna need something to keep you warm tonight."

Ethan looked up too fast, caught the slow smirk bloom across Cain's face in response. He pushed forward again, invading Ethan's space again, putting his hand back under his chin. "When's the last time, baby?"

"W—what?"

Cain's smirk grew. He leaned in, breath hot against Ethan's neck, one hand slipping below Ethan's shirt to run a thumb across his hipbone. "When's the last time you got—_mm_." Cain broke off as Ethan turned into him, catching his lips, threading a hand in Cain's dark hair and pulling him forward. Cain fell against him, pushing him back against the wall, hooking a hand behind Ethan's thigh and pulling them tighter together.

Ethan moaned into Cain's mouth, high-pitched and embarrassing, hot all over because it had been too fucking long, Cain overwhelming and new and hot and hard against him.

Cain slipped a hand between them, rubbing at the front of Ethan's pants until Ethan had to turn his head away and gasp for breath, squeezing his eyes shut.

"That long, huh?" Cain asked, and Ethan could hear the smirk in his voice, could _feel_ his eyes watching him. "It's all right, baby," he murmured, lips brushing below Ethan's ear, tongue darting out and licking at the hurried pulse, knuckles rubbing at the bulge in his jeans.

"Cain," Ethan said, turning his face back, opening his eyes just long enough to watch Cain come back to him, tongue pushing between Ethan's lips and licking at the roof of his mouth.

Ethan dug his fingers into Cain's shoulder and shuddered, coming in his pants like he was a teenager again, letting Cain rub him through it. He sagged back against the door once Cain let him go, barely had a moment to catch his breath before Cain grabbed his hand and shoved it down the front of his own pants, and Ethan didn't have to be a genius to get the hint, wrapped his hand tight around Cain's cock and pulled, watched his eyes slip closed.

It had apparently been a while for Cain too, didn't take long before he had sunk his teeth into Ethan's neck and filled his hand, tongue rolling over the thin flesh of his throat. Ethan shivered as Cain pulled away and licked his lips. He pulled Ethan's hand out of his pants and handed Ethan a discarded t-shirt to clean himself up.

Ethan wiped his hand off, watched as Cain licked his fingers and put out the candles in the kitchen, until the only light came from the few burning wicks beside the bed. He moved around the apartment, checking that the boards along the windows were holding strong, reloading his gun. Ethan stayed pressed against the wall, feeling sticky and uncomfortable, tracking Cain's movements, the faint candlelight sweeping off the slope of his shoulder, maybe illuminating the fingernail marks Ethan had put there.

The flush was still hot on his cheeks when Cain glanced up at him and smirked, half his face still cast in shadow. Ethan bit his lip, the shirt falling from his fingers as he moved toward Cain.

A/N: *trupy = corpses (says Google Translate, so, grain of salt :P ).


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Aw, shit. I wanted to post this on Halloween, but I just missed my mark. Anyway, happy November, have an update! *Confetti*

-E

Perdition: Part III

Cain had a comforter; a big, stained thing stuffed with feathers, bunched up on the stripped mattress, lumpy and heavy. When Ethan glanced around, looking for a couch or armchair to curl up in for the night, Cain pushed the eiderdown aside and slid toward Ethan on the mattress, chest still bare, pants undone. He pulled Ethan forward by a belt loop, thumb tapping against the button of his jeans, other hand sliding beneath Ethan's shirt, dull nails scraping down his chest.

Ethan licked his lips, fingered the hem of his shirt. Cain reclined to lean back on his hands, eyes intent, head tipped to the side. Ethan shifted, legs brushing Cain's where they lay open and bracketing his. Ethan stripped the shirt over his head and then let it fall to the ground beside the bed. Cain's eyes flicked down, but he didn't move, gaze travelling back up to Ethan's face. Ethan swallowed, slipping open the button of his jeans, flushing from chest to forehead.

Still Cain just watched him, chest rising and falling slowly, the few candles by the bed burnishing his skin, glowing in his dark eyes. "Come on," he said when Ethan hesitated. "I wanna see."

Ethan blew out a shuddery breath. "You already have."

When Ethan looked up again, Cain was smiling, cheek tilted toward his shoulder. "Not like this. Come on, baby…."

Ethan looked down at himself; hollow chest, thin stomach, jeans riding how on his hips. He took a breath. "Maybe we should go to sleep."

Cain leaned up again, mouth skimming along the front of Ethan's chest, licking at his skin, fingers rubbing against the hair below Ethan's navel. "We will," he said, voice muffled against Ethan's skin. He glanced up. "Right after I fuck your brains out."

Ethan shivered, put a hand Cain's hair. "Is that—is that supposed to be some sort of zombie joke?"

Cain snorted, bit the jut of Ethan's hip. "Smartass." Then he reposed again, grin returning as he left Ethan cold and jittery and hard. "Take off your pants."

Drafty apartment, candles burning low, and Ethan shucked his pants and shorts. Cain's face tightened, and then almost at once he was back on Ethan, tongue pushing into his navel, fingers rubbing the crease of his thigh. Ethan felt his knees weakening, only managed to clumsily widen his stance when Cain growled and pushed his thighs apart so he could finger the hot skin between.

"_Oh_." Ethan curled over Cain's head, eyes squeezing shut, only coming back to himself when he heard a sharp rap on the door.

Cain made an annoyed noise, biting hard at Ethan's stomach again, nose wrinkling. Then he pushed Ethan back and stood up, walking to the door, pausing long enough to grab his rifle off the table. Ethan only just managed to fall to the mattress and pull the comforter over his lap by the time Cain threw open the door.

A dark-haired figure darted inside the apartment as soon as the door opened wide enough. The person moved toward Ethan, into the light from the few candles still lit. Ethan's hand tightened on the comforter.

"Hey."

The figure stopped, pale eyes sweeping from Ethan back to Cain, black hair glinting.

"What do you want?" said Cain, closing the door again, gun hanging at his side.

The other glanced at Ethan before he returned to Cain, putting a hand behind his neck to pull him down and speak in his ear. The hand on his rifle tightened, but otherwise Cain allowed himself to be pulled down.

The small man's lips buzzed at Cain's ear, whispering quickly. When he pulled back to look Cain in the eye, he let his fingers brush over the hair at Cain's nape, eyes wide. Cain frowned, eyebrows drawing in. He said something, too quiet for Ethan to catch. The other nodded, and then Cain pushed him away.

"Bye," he said. He took the man by the arm and opened the door, pushing him into the hall. The other peered up through his curtain of dark hair, moonlight catching the side of his face, illuminating the grey eyes that looked from Cain to Ethan before the door closed on him.

"Who was that?" Ethan asked.

Cain's back tensed. He shuffled to the kitchen, cabinet doors banging open. He came back with a bottle of amber liquid, falling onto the mattress beside Ethan and pulling the comforter away, leaving him exposed.

"Who was that?" Ethan asked again.

Cain took a pull off the bottle and grimaced. "Shut up."

Ethan shrank back when Cain turned to glare at him, then leaned back even more when Cain jerked toward him, putting a hand on Ethan's shoulder and shoving him down. "What're you—" Ethan broke off when Cain poured the drink over him, splashing against his stomach, pooling in his bellybutton.

He opened his mouth to say something else but then Cain's mouth was back, licking up the liquid, sucking at his stomach until Ethan's flagging erection was back. Ethan shivered, watched as Cain licked up his chest, then gripped his arm and forced Ethan to sit up. He took another pull on the bottle, threaded a hand through Ethan's hair and brought their lips together.

_Whiskey_, Ethan thought as Cain's tongue pulsed, pushing the alcohol into his mouth. He coughed when Cain pulled away, wiping away the dribbles on his face. "Cain," he said, could already feel a flush blooming on his face. "Who—"

Cain gripped his cock suddenly, thumb rubbing hard against the tip. Ethan gasped, hand clenching against the mattress. He looked toward Cain just in time to watch him smirk and stand up, touch removed, drinking more whiskey as he walked back to the kitchen table to put his shirt and jacket back on.

"Wait," Ethan said, crawling to the edge of the mattress. "Cain, where're you—"

Cain turned around, did up his pants and snatched up his gun. "Don't die," he said, fumbling out a cigarette as he exited into the hallway. "And don't fucking touch anything." He pushed his head back into the apartment long enough to say, "And lock the door." Then a slam, and he was gone.

Ethan was left staring at the faded wood, mouth gaping open until he finally stood up and flipped the lock. He paused beside the kitchen table and picked up the bottle, weighing it in his hands, and then taking a drink. He brought the whisky back to the bed with him, slumping down and frowning through another drink as he put a hand on his dick and started to stroke. He swiped at the tip, just like Cain had, rolling his thumb over it, taking another sip of whiskey, feeling a drop slide down his neck and onto his chest.

Ethan let out a shuddering breath, leaning his head back against the boarded window, pressing his thumb hard against the slit on the upstroke, biting his lip. He came into his hand a few seconds later, legs tensing against the mattress, slowing down as he worked himself through it.

He took another drink, spilling more alcohol over himself as he reached for the comforter to wipe off his hand. Ethan glanced around, had almost decided to sleep before a small bookshelf caught his eye. Ethan set the bottle down on the floor and rolled to his feet, picking up one of the candles and bringing it with him across the room.

He looked through the books, most of them old and fraying, with titles in Russian symbols that Ethan had no hope of understanding. He picked up a random one, opening it, found a note scrawled inside, short and indecipherable. Ethan slid the book back. As he did so, he heard the sound of crinkling paper, felt the book catch on something. He slid his hand to the back of the shelf, forcefully extracting a folded up piece of paper.

Ethan set the candle down on the ground and opened the paper, smoothing it out and reading the faded writing in the waning candlelight.

Finally, he had found something that was in English, though Ethan hadn't expected to find something like this.

_Certificate of Marriage_, it said, issued to Lev Mizenov and Irina Tattar. Ethan had assumed that this hadn't been Cain's apartment, that he had simply found it in the aftermath of the pandemic, just like Ethan had found his, but now he wasn't so sure. It was possible that it was someone else's place, another Russian-speaker, but somehow Ethan didn't think so. Cain hadn't answer him when he had asked how he had found the place….

Ethan was still holding the certificate and staring into space when he heard a shout from outside, followed by rapid gunfire. He knocked the candle over, wax spilling across the floor. Ethan stood, paper slipping from his numb fingers as another shout came from the street.

He stumbled back to the bed, hastily pulling his clothes back on, only a single, dim candle left to light the apartment. Ethan picked up his gun and paused just in front of the door, remembering at the last moment that he still didn't have ammunition. He turned back to survey the room, eyes locating a small dresser next to the bed.

He hurried toward it, opened up the top drawer and began rifling through Cain's socks and underwear, found nothing interesting but a few old porn mags and a pair of handcuffs. Ethan pushed the drawer closed again, heard more gunfire. He turned to the bedside table next, but still nothing. In the kitchen, he finally found what he was looking for, shoving some cartridges into his pockets and hastily exiting the apartment. He closed the door just as the last candle flickered and died.

The apartment complex was still eerily dead and dark. Ethan's footsteps sounded loud and overwhelming in the enclosed space of the stairwell as he hurried down the four flights. When he pushed open the complex door, he was immediately overwhelmed by what he saw.

There was a reason why he didn't venture out at dark, why, once the world had gone to shit, the first thing Ethan had done was abandon his ransacked apartment and gone looking for a safe place to lie low. It was a festering breeding ground of death and despair, the zombies finally getting bold enough to come out in droves, letting the darkness be their cover as they went on the eternal search for food.

There were dozens of them, some slow and unthreatening, others spry and quick-moving, almost _human_. They unnerved Ethan to no end. They were the most dangerous to him, not because he couldn't outrun or outsmart them, but because Ethan was always so hesitant, so taken aback by the reminder that they had been human, and he found it hard to watch them blast apart.

He shook that thought off, carefully scanned the crowd, trying to find the source of the yelling. There was nothing though, no one in sight but the undead. Ethan kept close to the complex until he heard another shout. A few of the more alert zombies glanced around at the noise, hollow faces and sunken eyes pointing Ethan in the right direction. He took a breath and then carefully waded his way through the crowd.

When everything had first gone wrong, when people had been unexpectedly dropping dead and then more unexpectedly coming back, most people's first instinct had been to run. Run away and never look back, keep running until you outran death itself.

It didn't take long to realize that was a bad plan. Movement was bad, obvious, a neon sign pointing the zombies in the right direction. The real trick was to keep up appearances, try to blend in, and stick close to the dumb ones who couldn't tell the different between undead and alive.

That was another thing Ethan had never handled well. Diving right into the fray and staying confident that it was the smartest thing to do never sat well with him. Running still always seemed like the best option, even when he knew it wasn't, even when he was this outnumbered.

Ethan kept his hands on his gun, eyes darting around as he carefully inched through the crowd. He singled out the slowest-moving figures and jumped from one to the other, kept his eyes averted from the ones with quick reflexes, whose gazes swiveled around quickly.

Only, he had never been very good at this. The girl with hair as black as Cain's was the one who got his attention. She was disturbingly beautiful; deathly pale and macabre with large, glassy eyes. They were almost completely white, no sign of color left in them, and they drew Ethan's attention at once, gazes catching. And then she turned toward him, mouth opening, and she moved fast when she started pushing through the crowd.

And Ethan knew how stupid it was, knew it was a rookie mistake, but sometimes he felt just as stupid and trapped as the zombies, just as slow and useless; a reckless, caged animal. So when she started pushing others aside, when other faces began to examine Ethan as well, he adjusted his gun, got his feet under him, and ran.

Instant chaos. The ones who hadn't sniffed out Ethan before certainly did now, fingers scrabbling at him as he shoved his way through the crowd, trying to get through the thick of things, running in the vague direction of the shouting he had heard earlier, even though the silence around him now seemed overwhelming.

The only sound in the night was his heavy breathing, the ragged grunts and groans of the undead around him, and the slap of his feet against the pavement. He felt a tug at his back, heard ripping fabric and felt a cold blast of air against his shoulder, but he didn't stop, kept going, even as he felt something sharp against his the bare expanse of his skin. He could only brokenly hope that he wasn't bitten, wondered if maybe it would be better if he were.

Finally, he could see an opening, a bare expanse of road where the crowd had thinned. Ethan pushed toward it, breaking through into the cold night, where there was no press of bodies on every side. Still he kept running, for there were more undead loitering, more catching up to him, but he could see freedom.

He darted down an alley, slowing down just a bit. He had just passed a rusted dumpster when a figure suddenly ran out from behind it. Ethan cried out, nowhere to go, lifted his gun, but too late. He fell back, cold breath against his face. He got an elbow into the zombie's face, out of sheer luck managed to avoid the mouth and get the nose instead. Bone crunched and Ethan grimaced, wiggled the gun out from between them, pushed it right against the skull and pulled the trigger. _Bam_, splatter.

Ethan closed his eyes against the cold spray and hard flecks of bone. He pushed the body off him and made to sit up, opening his eyes in time to find that he was utterly surrounded. There were at least a dozen zombies around him, looking down at him, still and silent. Above their heads, Ethan could see the tops of buildings, the bright smattering of stars in the sky; still so many, always so many; billions of bright spots in the darkness, beacons at the end.

Ethan picked up his gun again, found the ugliest face before him, shakily aimed, and pulled the trigger. It seemed as though the slug had barely left the pipe before they were on him, snatching at his limbs and clothes and hair, searching for bare skin.

Ethan fought, knew the end was near, but his most basic instinct kept him fighting, kept him pushing them away, kept his hands on the gun, pulling the trigger over and over again, until finally he couldn't reload anymore. He kept struggling, kept kicking and punching and ripping, and nearby, closer than he had anticipated, Ethan heard gunshots.

"Cain!" he yelled, felt something horrifyingly sharp and wet graze his neck; teeth? _"Cain!"_

Yelling, more gunshots. Ethan kicked out at something that snapped loudly, his foot throbbing in response.

_"CAIN!"_ His voice cracked. Ethan felt someone climb over him to sit on his chest, cutting off his air.

He tried to push the zombie off, but then there was more weight on his hands, wrists pressing painfully against the concrete. "No, no," he said. "No, no, no…." He twisted his hips, tried to throw them off, but suddenly there was weight all over him, pushing him down and completely immobilizing him.

Hands, mouths. Ethan cringed away, clenched his eyes shut and prayed that he would at least go quickly.

And then the gunshots were right there, right above him, and the dead weight that had been on top of him suddenly had less force, no more movement, just slumping over. When the volley had stopped, Ethan pushed the bodies away from him and curled onto his side, just breathing, eyes still tightly closed, shaking all over.

When the smell of decaying skin became too much to bear, Ethan sat up. "Cain…" he said, unsure how to finish. He opened his eyes, surprised to find a hand extended toward him. When he looked at the person attached to it, he understood, for the person above him—the person who had saved him—wasn't Cain.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Woooowwww so sorry for the delay—I wanted to get this up so long ago, but this week has been hell. Anyway, update! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Enjoy. :)

Perdition: Part IV

"You," said Ethan before he could stop himself. He wished that Cain had told him this man's name, for looking at the thin face with gray eyes and straight black hair and not having any name to identify with it seemed unnerving. It was almost as though Ethan were looking into the face of a ghost.

He reached toward the hand extended to him, had only just managed to graze the cold fingers when a dark figure pushed the smaller form away, and two hands gripped the front of Ethan's shirt and pulled him up. Ethan heard more ripping fabric, felt more cold air against his back as Cain set him on his feet again. When he made to pull his hands away, Ethan swayed on his feet and gripped his wrists to keep him there.

"I told you not to leave," Cain snapped, giving him a shake. Ethan felt his shirt rip further, nearing the small of his back.

"You never said that," Ethan whispered, taking a breath and glancing down.

"Tch." Cain shook him again, and Ethan's shirt finally split, billowing around his front, leaving his back exposed. "You finally done for?"

Ethan was about to ask what he meant when Cain extricated himself from Ethan's grip and ran a rough hand over his back, feeling at Ethan's skin. Ethan blew out a breath, let Cain manhandle him away so he could run his hands over Ethan's front, searching him for bite marks.

"I wasn't—" Ethan said as Cain grabbed his face with both hands. "I mean, I don't think…."

Dark eyes searched his face, long fingers scrubbed through his hair, resting at the back of his neck. "You're fine," Cain said. His hands squeezed tight, digging into Ethan's skin. "You're fine."

Ethan nodded, eyes sliding back to the person still standing in the shadows behind Cain. Cain turned, following Ethan's gaze. "And you?" Cain said.

The other shook his head, long sweep of dark hair shifting over his eye before he flicked it away again. Cain's eyes swept him from head to toe and back again. Then Cain turned back to Ethan, hand still clenched around his neck.

"We have things to do," he said. "Go back to the apartment."

"No," Ethan said, twitching against Cain's painfully tight grip. "I heard yelling—what happened—what do you have to do?"

Cain leaned forward, nose brushing against Ethan's, teeth catching his lower lip and tugging, sharply biting down before he drew back. "Don't you worry."

"But—"

Cain pressed forward again, dragging Ethan up to press their lips together, Cain's tongue surging into his mouth, rolling hot and slick against Ethan's. Then suddenly he was gone, and Ethan was cold and turned on and watching Cain and his friend hurry into the darkness.

Ethan gave himself a moment to calm down, to try in vain to keep his shirt in place, before he stepped over the splattered bodies and followed them.

They headed south, toward the outskirts of the city. It was easy to lurk behind and follow them, letting them clear a path through which Ethan could easily pass, the bodies of fallen dead paving his way.

He wasn't sure how long they walked; all he knew was that by the time the two dark silhouettes began edging toward a sprawling, glass building, Ethan's whole body was numb. He watched from behind a weathered support column as the taller figure shouldered open the front door and entered the building, his friend just behind him. Ethan waited for them to pull ahead, and then he slipped out from behind his cover and followed.

There were lights in here. Ethan didn't know how that was possible, when the world had gone dark years ago; yet every few feet, small lights blinked on either side of a long hallway, urging him forward. Ethan let himself be led, glancing around. The whole building was a mess; papers scattered, desks overturned, computer monitors fallen and cracked, gathering dust. And then there were the bodies; mutilated, decaying, half-gone with the bones showing, tattered strips of clothing laying bloodied on the white tile floor.

Ethan carefully stepped past them, holding his breath to ward off the stench. He listened for the sound of footsteps, watched the shadows flicker on the walls ahead. He had no idea what this building had been used for, had no idea why Cain was interested in it, but Ethan was determined to find out.

As he walked father down the hallway, Ethan peered through the large glass windows on either side of him; windows that looked into other ransacked rooms filled with sterile, white equipment, scattered papers, and broken beakers.

"A lab?" Ethan muttered to himself, looking at a skeleton in a bloodied lab coat inside one of the rooms.

He hesitated a bit too long, coming back to himself only when he heard a shout and the breaking of glass from farther down the hall. Ethan startled and then broke into a run, flying around a corner and skidding into total panic. There was water pooling on the floor, coming from the sprinklers in the ceiling that had, for whatever reason, whirred on.

Ethan peered through the shower, saw Cain and his friend in one of the rooms, Cain sifting through soggy papers and pushing aside equipment as the other figure fought with a zombie in a long white coat, attempting to ward it off with a knife.

Cain said something then, fast and harsh in a language Ethan didn't understand. He pushed more papers to the floor and then wheeled around, opening another folder and sorting through those papers as well.

Ethan hesitated, slowly getting soaked, just watching the scene unfold. Cain's friend managed to thrust his knife through the eye socket of the zombie and it fell to the floor. Cain didn't even seem to notice, was still flipping through papers and shaking the wet hair out of his eyes. So he didn't notice when another figure slipped out from a lopsided cabinet and pushed itself toward him. Ethan glanced at his friend; saw that he was methodically wiping his knife off on the bottom of his shirt, turned away from the slow-moving zombie.

Ethan stepped forward, encountered the heavy barrier of the door. He tried the handle and found it was sealed shut, saw a card-reader by the doorframe with a blinking red light. Ethan glanced up, saw that neither of the men inside had noticed the undead yet. Ethan slapped the glass with his hand, but it was thick and undoubtedly soundproof, and the steady patter-patter of water in the halls would have drowned him out anyway.

"Hey!" Ethan yelled, but still nothing, no acknowledgement from inside. _"Cain!"_

And still the undead was still getting closer, creeping up behind Cain, hands reaching out, fingers bloodied with the bone showing through. Ethan pounded the window again, but still nothing, his knuckles aching. Then he picked up his gun, fumbled a cartridge into it from the pocket of his jeans, pointed it at the window and pulled the trigger.

The resulting blast was loud in the confines of the hallway, and while the bullet didn't ricochet off the glass, it also didn't shatter it. It embedded itself into the thick window, but it did the trick. The noise was loud enough to draw the attention of the two men, and as soon as Cain glanced toward the door, he could see the threat sneaking up on him.

He whirled around and slipped, catching himself on the counter and knocking a test tube to the floor. His fingers fumbled for his gun, but Ethan could see it on the other side of the room, well out of Cain's reach.

Ethan hit the glass again, watched as the zombie gripped Cain's neck and pulled him in. Cain twisted, tried to jerk away, but even the slow ones had grips strong as steel, and were driven by an all-consuming hunger; they didn't give up easily.

So Ethan watched as Cain was trapped, watched his friend spring into action, jumping forward, hitting it in the head with his knife. The zombie released one grip on Cain and swung its arm around, smacking the shorter man across the face, sending him reeling into the wall where he didn't immediately stir.

Cain tried to take advantage of the zombie's divided attention, but he still wasn't fast enough, wasn't able to extricate himself before the zombie had turned back to him.

_"Cain!"_ Ethan yelled again, made to shoot at the glass again, but instead he turned the butt of his gun toward it and brought it down against the bullet implanted there. The glass cracked, spider-webbing outward, and Ethan hit it again with as much force as he could, felt his shoulder pull uncomfortably.

On the fourth hit, when Cain's eyes had started to flutter closed and the zombie began dragging him closer, the glass finally gave way.

Ethan watched the window come down, shielding his eyes as best he could, waiting until the crunching crash of glass had subsided before he hurried through the open wall, loaded up his gun and fired. The zombie was blasted to the side, falling to the ground. At the same moment, Cain collapsed as well.

Ethan hurried around the counter, kneeling beside him at almost the same moment that his friend crawled over to put a hand on Cain's leg. Ethan caught his eye for a brief moment, unsure how to proceed, and then Cain groaned and Ethan leaned forward, putting a hand on Cain's wet shoulder.

"Cain?"

"Stop hovering," Cain snapped, leaning back and breathing deep, pushing the hands off him.

"Are you all right?" Ethan asked, glancing up as the ceiling as the sprinklers finally shut off.

"I'd be _better_ if you both got the fuck away from me."

The other leaned back, but Ethan frowned, peering at the bruises on Cain's neck. "Are you sure you're OK?" he said, running a finger along the dark marks.

Cain grabbed his wrist and flung it away. "Get away from me."

"Cain, I was only—"

"Get up," Cain said, eyes focused behind Ethan's head.

Ethan sighed, put a hand on Cain's arm when he began to get to his feet. "Cain, I don't think—"

"Get your head out of your ass and turn the fuck around," Cain said.

Ethan did as he was told, saw that there were more zombies moving down the hallway, heading slowly toward them. He got to his feet, quickly reloading his gun. Cain's friend had already picked himself up and was walking toward the empty wall, flicking his knife open.

"Uh, hey." Ethan stepped forward, offering his gun to the smaller man. "If—if you want."

Cain's friend glanced down at the proffered gun and then smirked, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

"But—" Ethan started again, but Cain knocked him aside to get closer to the zombies.

"Don't bother," he said. "He can kill better with that one knife than you can with two guns."

Ethan flushed and frowned at the back of Cain's head, following him out into the hallway and toward the growing crowd.

"What the fuck are you even doing here?" Cain asked as the gun discharged and one of the zombies dropped.

Ethan flinched. "What are _you _doing here? What is this place?"

"If I wanted you to know that, I would have brought you with me in the first place."

Cain's friend gave a low chuckle stuck his knife straight through the pupil of another zombie. Cain's gun fired again.

Ethan raised his gun, attempting to help, but the other two were in front of him, shifting around too much and Ethan didn't want to take the chance of shooting them. "Well I want to know, so what is it?"

"Shut up, princess," Cain groaned, pulling the trigger again and then falling back as the zombies kept lurching forward, walking over their fallen comrades.

Ethan clenched his jaw, took a step forward and then a few stuttering steps back, feet smacking wetly against the tile. His eyes flicked between the two men fighting before him, and then he turned around. A black card on the floor caught his eye. Ethan picked it up, turning it over in his hands. _North American BioTech Laboratories_ was written across the top in large white letters.

Ethan glanced back, saw that Cain and his friend were still easily holding the zombies at bay, yet the crowd never seemed to thin.

"I'm leaving," Ethan said. Neither of the other men bothered to answer; appeared not to hear him.

Ethan clenched his hand around the card. He looked between the two of them again, and then he turned and hurried down the hallway. He flew past room after room, peering inside the huge windows, seeing nothing but more lab equipment and white coats and drippy papers.

It wasn't until Ethan reached the end of the hallway and another zombie rounded the corner that he found a different room, one without a window, only a narrow metal door with no handle.

Ethan jerked to a halt, fumbled the card into the slider on the wall, just managed it before the card slipped between his fingers and fell to the ground. Ethan watched it drop, too harried to spare the moment to pick it up again. He slipped into the room and pushed the door closed firmly behind him. He blinked in the sudden blackness, no safety lights in here to illuminate anything. Ethan slid his hand along the wall, reaching for a light switch, fingers brushing against smooth tile, and then suddenly cold flesh.

Ethan cried out, jerking away, fumbling with his gun in the pitch black as he felt movement in front of him. A blast went off, the gun discharging. Light burst in the darkness for a split second, illuminating a half-rotted face and a gaping, graying mouth. The shot had gone awry though, the zombie still shuffling toward him, and in the total darkness, Ethan didn't know where to look, just pulled the gun up and pulled the trigger again.

He heard the body fall to the floor, a heavy limb coming to rest across his shoes. Ethan shuddered, sucked in a breath, and then edged his way along the wall again, found the light switch and flipped it on. It seemed that he had found his way into a glorified filing cabinet. There were a few cramped desks shoved in the middle; black, dusty computer monitors pressed back-to-back, chairs pushed in neatly. All around the walls, filing cabinets reached almost up to the ceiling. They had no identifiers, no placards on their fronts, and each one was locked.

Ethan walked to one of the desks and opened the top drawer. A few electronic gadgets rattled around inside, along with a few simple tools. Ethan set his gun down on the desk and rummaged through the contents of the drawer, finally brushing against something that clinked metallically. He pushed aside a few loose pieces of paper and stranded paperclips, and unearthed a few small keys on a silver key ring.

Ethan twirled the keys around his index finger, observing the room at large, wondering where to start. Eventually he just went to the cabinet directly in front of him, matched the key to the lock, and slid it open.

Dozens of files met his gaze, first and last names etched onto the exposed tabs of each separate folder. Ethan was in a small section of 'M' surnames, from Meadows to Mills. He fished out a random file with the name Jenny Michaelson on it and flipped it open. A picture of a plain girl with long black hair was paper-clipped to the first page, which outlined her medical history.

Ethan flipped to the next page, surveying the detailed credit history compiled there. Ethan supposed that he shouldn't be surprised; this was a medical lab, after all, and if Jenny had some procedure done, they would want to know that she was able to pay.

But the depth of their prying was concerning to Ethan…. He was holding not just her credit history, but her parents' as well, and their histories were are all terrible. If Jenny did have some procedure done, Ethan had no idea how she had managed to pay for it, or why BioTech Labs had agreed to work with her in the first place.

Ethan frowned and slid her folder back, picking up another. This person didn't have any credit history to speak of, yet somehow there was a history of past cash spending, and Ethan didn't know how that was even possible. There was also quite a long police record of petty thefts and assaults.

A feeling of deep unease settled over Ethan at that moment. He shoved the file back in and closed the drawer, opening up the one just beside it and pulling out another history at random. It was the same basic information; just another poor, faceless stranger in a box in the closet of some random lab.

He flipped through the pages of a document, finally settling on the last page, where only a few lines of text were typed in small box letters. Only one word caught Ethan's eye, though: Earthbound.

He dropped the file back in and clumsily closed the drawer, heart beating fast now. He ran his fingers down the wall of cabinets, opening one, looking at the names, and then closing it again. Over and over he opened cabinet after cabinet, until he finally found the one he was looking for, found the _name_ he was looking for.

He was almost surprised that his instinct was right, almost surprised that he was looking at a recent photo of himself, one he didn't remember ever taking. His hands shook as he flipped the photo aside, looked at his medical history; the broken arm he had gotten when he was ten, the concussion from a few years ago when he had taken a corner too hard and fast on his bike and fallen onto the concrete. His father wasn't pleased about that, didn't even seem to matter that he was the reason why Ethan had taken off so quickly in the first place.

Ethan turned to his own credit history; saw immediately that he was an anomaly. Apparently, whoever had created the file saw this as well, for typed across the top in bolded, red letters, it read, _Unsatisfactory Candidate_. On the last piece of paper, where there had only been a few lines of text on the last file, there was a full page of text here. On the second to last line, a word had been hastily scratched out and replaced with another in a hasty scrawl: Earthbound.

He stared at that word, unblinking, for what seemed like forever. It wasn't until the door burst open and crashed against a cabinet that Ethan startled and looked around.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Cain snapped. His eyes focused on the papers in Ethan's hand, and he strode forward.

He had taken them right out of Ethan's grip before Ethan knew what was happening. Then, he said, "Wait, no," but Cain had already seen Ethan's picture, had already shoved the folder into his jacket and then grabbed Ethan's arm.

"We need to get out of here," he said. "There are more of them coming."

"But—my file—"

"Bit of bedtime reading," Cain said, tugging on his arm and pulling him out into the hallway, barely pausing long enough to let Ethan retrieve his gun. "Now, come _on_."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Uhh it's three-thirty in the morning, this is probably not pretty, please forgive me any mistakes! Thank you for reading/reviewing!

-EM

Perdition: Part V

They made it back to Cain's apartment with minimal injuries, the cold wind freezing Ethan to the bone in his wet clothes. Cain's friend slinked quietly away at some point on the return journey; one moment he was there just beside Ethan, quiet as a shadow, and the next Ethan turned to glance at him and he had just disappeared. He had half a mind to ask Cain where he had gone, but after catching sight of Cain's dark scowl, he thought better of it.

When they reached the complex, Cain bounded up the stairs two at a time and locked the door behind them as soon as Ethan was inside the apartment. He lit the remaining candles again, grabbed his bottle of whiskey and flopped onto the mattress.

"What was that place?" Ethan asked, leaning his hip against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

Cain ignored him, pulled the folder out of his jacket and leaned back against the wall, flipping it open.

Ethan clenched his teeth, watching Cain's eyes flick over the papers inside. "Cain, what was that place?"

Cain barely glanced up, gaze sharp. "BioTech lab," he said.

"Yeah, I know that, I can read. But I've never been there in my life, Cain, I've never even heard of that place—why do they have a file about me?"

"Says here your dad's in politics. You're probably loaded, aren't you?"

Ethan sucked in a breath, fists clenching. _"Cain!"_

Cain sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, pushing the folder away and sliding toward Ethan on the mattress. "They have a file on all of us."

"All of who?"

Cain turned his face away, slanted Ethan a gaze from the corner of his eye. "Everyone they left behind."

He held Cain's gaze for a long while, thinking. Finally, Ethan blinked and shifted his weight against the wall. "Why didn't you tell me you were going?"

Cain's jaw squared as he lunged for the whiskey bottle, taking a sip. "You didn't need to know."

"This isn't _about_—" Ethan bit his tongue. "If this is going to work, this—us—getting out of here together, you need to tell me this stuff." He glanced up at Cain, already regretting his next words. "You need to trust me."

Cain's head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing to slits. He rose to his feet, setting the bottle down onto the floor and backing Ethan up against the wall. He leaned over him, imposing and overbearing, one arm pressed to the wall above Ethan's head.

"Trust you," he said. "_Trust_ you." He laughed in Ethan's face, harsh and humorless. He lifted his free hand, just managed to brush back the hair at Ethan's temple before Ethan smacked his hand away.

The smirk dropped off Cain's face as quick as lightning. When he spoke, his voice was steady and low, a threat. "I don't have to do shit. _You _do as _I _say, you get it?"

_"I'm the one—"_

"You're the one who needs to build a fucking engine, _I'm_ the one, who's keeping us both alive, so you shut your mouth and you do what I fucking say!"

Ethan swallowed, breath coming fast. He glared at Cain, gazes holding. Then he pushed Cain's arm aside and strode toward the door.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I'm leaving," Ethan said, picking up his gun and unbolting the door with shaking hands.

He heard Cain take a breath, sharp and annoyed. "You'll die out there on your own."

Ethan hesitated, groping at the door handle. "Then I guess you'll have to find someone else to get your out of here." He got the door open and stepped into the hallway, slamming it shut behind him.

He remembered when he reached the street about the state of his shirt. It was freezing, and so dark that he could barely see three feet in front of him. He gripped his gun and headed back through the city, back toward his warehouse and his car. It was easy going, for the most part. He only got stuck in one crowd, but he managed to keep his wits and shuffle slowly through, his mind still consumed with anger, helping him focus.

If possible, the warehouse felt colder than the streets outside. Ethan got the door closed and locked with numb fingers, turning to the car and pulling the ratty old fleece blanket out of the trunk. He wrapped it around himself and climbed into the backseat of the car, putting his gun on the floor and curling into a ball, closing in eyes.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly he was being woken by the sound of the car door opening, a dark shape moving over him. He felt a jolt of adrenaline pulse through him, eyes snapping open. He rolled over to seize his gun off the floor, but the person took hold of his arm and stopped him.

"Hey, stop! It's me."

"Cain?" Ethan squinted in the darkness, caught the bright pricks of Cain's eyes in the darkness.

"What the hell, Cain?" He sat up, forcing Cain back with an arm on his chest. "Did you follow me?"

"What is this?" Cain asked, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket and brandishing it at Ethan.

"I don't—"

_"Where did you get this, Ethan?"_

Ethan glared. "I don't even know what _it_ is."

Cain shoved the paper at him and Ethan unfolded it, holding it in front of the back window to let the starlight illuminate the faded words.

"It's a marriage certificate."

Cain snatched the sheet back and refolded it. "What was it doing on the floor of my apartment?"

"I just found it," Ethan said. "On the bookshelf. I'm sorry, I didn't—" He glanced up. "Is it yours?"

Cain reared back, smacked his head against the roof of the car and scowled. "My name's not Lev."

"It's not Cain, either," Ethan muttered.

Cain made a choked noise, almost a laugh. "I told you not to go through my shit."

"You just said it isn't yours."

A pause, and then Cain blew out a breath. "You're a pain in the ass."

Ethan pulled the blanket back around himself, hunkering down in the backseat again. "Yeah. That's why I left."

Cain shifted on the seat, and something light settled across Ethan's hip, over the blanket. "Just—stay the fuck away from me and my stuff," he said.

Ethan didn't reply. When he heard the car creak, he glanced down, saw a piece of fabric draped across him in the darkness. He picked it up. "What's this?"

Cain paused before closing the door, only his torso visible. "What the fuck does it look like?" But before he gave Ethan a chance to respond, he continued. "Just forget it."

The door slammed and Cain began to walk away. Ethan fingered the material of the shirt—heavy; flannel—and then he jolted upright, cranking down the window. "Cain! Cain, wait."

Cain slowed to a halt and turned around. "What?"

"You—you don't—" He licked his lips. "You can stay, if you want. It's…late."

Cain hesitated, just watching Ethan, then he came back to the car and climbed in, rolling the window back up. Ethan curled away from him, forcing himself into the smallest shape possible and pulling the blanket around himself again.

"Aren't you going to share?"

Ethan glanced over his shoulder. He felt Cain's hand at his ankle, urging him onto his back. Ethan allowed himself to be led, watching Cain carefully in the dim light.

"You should put on that shirt," Cain said, tugging at the front of Ethan's ragged top and pulling it off him.

Ethan shivered as Cain took his hands and pulled him into a sitting position. He picked up the shirt and guided Ethan's arms into the sleeves. He ghosted his fingers across Ethan's collarbones, down his chest, brushed both thumbs across Ethan's nipples and put his mouth to his neck.

He began to button Ethan's shirt, but Ethan put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, closed his eyes and swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Leave—leave it open."

Cain pulled back, threaded a hand in Ethan's hair and drew him forward, catching Ethan's mouth with his teeth and his waist with his hand.

Ethan moaned, curled his hand in Cain's shirt, and dragged him forward. He was certain he would regret this later, once Cain left, once he was on his own, but right now, he needed this. Right now, Ethan could only think about being as close as humanly possible to someone who was warm and breathing and alive. So he climbed into Cain's lap to be as close as he could, to grind hard against him. Cain groaned, curled both hands around Ethan's hips and pulled him down harder, pushing up against him at the same time.

"Oh—oh." Ethan broke away, gasping, and pressed his forehead against Cain's neck. He felt Cain's breath in in his ear a moment before his tongue curled inside, pressing hot and wet.

Then Cain's fingers flicked open the button of Ethan's jeans and his hand delved inside, wrapping around Ethan's cock and pulling up fast.

"Oh God," Ethan said, face burning, heart thumping in his chest.

"Here, come here." Cain pulled Ethan's head back with a hand in his hair and extracted himself from Ethan's pants to press three fingers in his mouth.

Ethan gripped his wrist and sucked on Cain's fingers, rolling his tongue between them. Cain's eyes focused on Ethan's mouth, heavy-lidded and steady, and when Ethan spread his legs and pushed himself down on Cain's lap, he could feel him get harder against his thigh.

"All right, that's good," Cain said, letting his fingers slip out of Ethan's mouth.

Ethan struggled to get rid of his pants, leaning back against the two front seats and allowing Cain to help him strip them off.

"Turn around, baby."

Ethan hesitated, gripped the front of Cain's shirt and pressed kisses against his neck. "Cain—"

"You backing out?"

Ethan pressed his nose to Cain's collar, breathed in his smell and closed his eyes. "I've—never…done this before."

Cain ran his hand up Ethan's back, gripped his flannel-clad shoulder. "Shh, it's all right, baby. I'll go real slow." He brushed a thumb across Ethan's neck. "Turn around."

Ethan did as he was told, glancing back over his shoulder to watch Cain unbutton and unzip his pants. He pulled his cock out and Ethan licked his lips, felt himself grow hotter just at the sight, was so turned on that he didn't know how he was going to last longer than a few seconds.

And then all of a sudden, he felt a hand on his back; Cain bending him over more, and then his other hand pressed wet against Ethan's ass, opening him up to the cold air. Pressure, and then two of Cain's fingers had pressed inside, splitting him open.

Ethan swallowed and whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. Cain's hand clenched on his shoulder, thumb rubbing against the knob at the top of his spine. "Shh, relax, baby."

"Cain—"

"It's all right," he murmured, and then Cain's other hand ran down his back, nails scratching lightly against the steps of Ethan's spine, finally reaching the base and sliding lower, tugging gently at his balls.

"Ah—Cain—"

"Yeah, that's good," Cain said, pulling his fingers out slow and then sliding back in, curling them forward.

Ethan moaned and reached down to palm his cock, other hand stretching out to steady himself against the arm rest between the two front seats.

"Hey, stop." Cain reached around and forced Ethan's hand away, pushing in a third finger at the same time.

Ethan hissed in a breath, clenching down. "Cain, come on," he whined, reaching down again.

"Better get used to it," Cain said, pushing Ethan's hand away again. "My dick's a lot bigger than this."

Ethan groaned, stroked his cock because he was getting soft and he didn't want to focus on the ache, not when he was doing this for an escape, when it was his first time.

"Pain in the ass," Cain muttered again, spreading his fingers apart, rotating his hand.

"My pain," Ethan said. "_Ah_—my ass."

Cain snorted, and then suddenly his fingers were gone. Ethan felt a moment of relief, hand still wrapped loosely around his dick. Then he heard Cain spit into his hand, felt him grip Ethan's shoulder and make him lean back and sink down. More pressure, a lot of pressure, and Ethan abandoned his grip on his cock to clutch the fabric of the front seats.

"Cain, it hurts," he said.

"Just give it a bit," Cain said, voice tight, hand clenched on Ethan's shoulder to keep him from moving.

Ethan breathed slow, closing his eyes. Then, before he was ready, before the pain had subsided, Cain was pushing him down again. Ethan clenched his thighs, tried to resist, but Cain said, "It's gonna hurt no matter what, might as well get it over with."

"You said you'd go slow."

Cain leaned forward to rest his forehead against Ethan's back, then reached around and gripped Ethan's cock. He touched the tip, rubbing a slow circle with his index finger and then tracing down the slit, sliding back up to start the route again, rubbing him slow, just a small point of contact.

"Mmm," Ethan hummed, relaxing just a bit, and suddenly Cain's hand tightened on his shoulder and he was all the way in, and not even the teasing fingers on Ethan's dick could make him forget the pain of being split in half.

"Shit, fuck, you dick."

Cain laughed, gripped Ethan's hips and guided him up, then back down again. It still hurt, no way around it, but there was already something underneath the ache; a pressure that was more pleasurable than painful.

"Lean back," Cain said. "I wanna watch you jerk yourself off."

Ethan shuddered and lay back against Cain's chest, the open shirt flickering between them. He wrapped a hand around himself, shifting on Cain's lap, eyelids fluttering at the feeling. Definitely more pleasure.

"Come on," Cain whispered, chin resting on Ethan's shoulder. He could practically feel Cain's gaze on him, prying and hot and needy. "Show me how you like it."

"Cain—"

Cain seized his hips again, and Ethan tensed his legs and helped Cain guide him up and sink back down, teeth of his zipper scraping against Ethan's ass. Ethan whimpered, head rolling against Cain's shoulder, hand pulling on himself, the other one reaching farther down to cup his balls.

When Cain moaned, the sound transferred directly to Ethan's ear, Cain's breath hot on his neck. Ethan swallowed when Cain gripped his hips tighter, didn't wait for Ethan to slide back down but planted his feet on the floor and shoved up into him, filling him full and fast.

_"Oh."_ Ethan pulled sharply on himself, fingering the tip on the upstroke, breath coming fast.

"You like it hard, baby?" Cain whispered in his ear, hands still around Ethan's hips, thumbs pressing into his cheeks to open him up wider so he could better drive into him.

Ethan sucked in a breath, hand stripping himself almost to the point of painful because he did like it hard, now that he was getting any at all. And when Cain adjusted his grip on Ethan's hips and continued to fuck up into him, it felt as though he could push the thoughts right out of his brain, leaving behind nothing but an open, gaping pleasure that was swallowing him down.

"Are you gonna come?" Cain purred then. "Are you gonna come with my cock inside you? Go one, come for me, baby."

"Cain," Ethan whined, leaning toward him, twisting himself on Cain's cock.

Cain surged up, catching Ethan's mouth and forcing his tongue inside, rolling his hips and wrapping his hand around Ethan's, stroking his cock with him. Ethan came with a gasp, turning his head into his shoulder, hips stuttering. Cain's hand tightened over his and suddenly Ethan could feel him coming as well, hot and deep inside him, groaning into his ear.

Ethan sagged back against Cain's chest, panting. Cain's lips ghosted over his neck, teeth catching his earlobe and tugging. One of his hands rubbed Ethan's thigh, the other traced a pattern through the splatter of come on his stomach.

Ethan lifted himself up, arms shaking. Cain slipped out of him with a soft moan and Ethan collapsed beside him, curling against Cain's chest, Cain's arm settling over his shoulders. It was quiet for a long moment, and Ethan could feel the cold start to creep back in, reality settling in just beside it.

Cain pulled a cigarette out of the pocket of his shirt and lit it, leaning over to roll the window down. Ethan shivered and clumsily pulled his pants on, grabbing the fleece blanket off the ground and dragging it over both of them.

"It's my parents'," Cain said. At Ethan's frown, he sighed and continued. "The marriage certificate, it belongs to my parents." He scowled and blew smoke toward the open window. "Belonged to my parents."

"Is it…was that their apartment?"

Cain sucked on his cigarette again. "Yeah."

Quiet again. A pigeon made a soft noise from the rafters and Ethan shivered in the cold air. "What's your name?"

Cain snorted, slanted a glance at Ethan. "Are you still leaving?"

Frowning, Ethan fiddled with a button of Cain's shirt, smoothing his fingers over the smooth surface, breathing in the smoke. "Yeah. But you can come with…if you want."

He glanced up at the same time that Cain glanced down, gazes catching. Cain tapped ash off the end of his cigarette and onto the floor, and with his free hand, he curled a finger against Ethan's cheek, tracing over his cheekbone.

"Little shit," he muttered.

Ethan just smiled and watched lazily as Cain stubbed out the cigarette and pulled the blanket tighter around them. Ethan closed his eyes and let the quiet sounds of rustling birds and hollow whoosh of wind lull him to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Long overdue, so sorry! Thank you for reading and reviewing! Enjoy! :)

-EM

Perdition: Part VI

Ethan jolted awake at the sound of a car door slamming. He unstuck his cheek from the cold window of the backdoor and blearily looked around. "Cain…?"

"Get up," Cain said from somewhere outside the car. "You have work to do."

Ethan yawned and shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself as he climbed out of the car. "I need supplies," he said, leaning his hip against the trunk watching Cain lay out a towel on the concrete floor and begin to take his gun apart piece by piece.

"Well then I guess we both have work to do," Cain said. "What do you need?"

Ethan dug around in the pocket of his jeans, extracting the scrap of paper and looking at it. "Just…stuff," he said.

Cain sat back on his heels, glancing up at Ethan, barrel of the gun balanced in his palm. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? I know cars."

"This isn't cars, this is engines," said Ethan, slipping the list back into his pocket. "Is there an auto body shop somewhere nearby?"

Cain snorted, hands still steadily stripping his gun. "Down the street. Not from around here, are you?"

Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but before he got a chance, Cain cut him off, lips twitching up in a cold smirk. "Oh, that's right, I remember. Bet your daddy never let you get this far into the city, did he, sweetheart?"

"Shut up," Ethan said, cheeks flaming.

Cain laughed, picked up a ragged cloth and began wiping down the gun. "So, what? He get sick of your pansy ass and leave you behind?"

"I opted to stay behind," said Ethan. "My parents wanted me to take the shuttle with them. They thought I was going to for months while they prepared. I was going to go with them…." He trailed off, thinking of the last time he had seen his parents, the last conversation he had with them. It wasn't a pleasant memory.

"But?"

Ethan blinked and looked up, found Cain watching him, gaze intent on his face. "But I wanted to help out here. There weren't enough volunteers to help the people staying."

"You mean the rejects."

Ethan looked down, scuffed his shoe across the floor. "I didn't know it was going to be like that," he said quietly. "I thought there would be another shuttle. I thought they would come back for everyone."

Cain stood, left his gun laying dismantled on the floor. "Then you're dumber than you look."

Ethan sighed. He didn't know why he even tried, why he thought that anything might have changed between them. He startled when suddenly Cain was just in front of him, hands gripping his hips and pulling them tight together.

"What?" he said, edgy and wary of the sharp look on Cain's face.

Cain tilted his head to one side, eyebrows drawn in. "You really thought they'd come back for us?"

Ethan blinked. "Of course."

One side of Cain's mouth twitched up, just barely a smirk. His eyes dropped, settling on Ethan's mouth for a long moment before he pulled away to walk back to his gun. "Get your shit," he said, settling back on the floor. "We're leaving in five."

Ethan didn't move, just watched as Cain started putting the gun back together, movements smooth and sure. "Do you think there's still a chance?"

"Of what?" Cain grunted, eyes downcast.

"That they'll come back for us."

Cain snorted and got to his feet, loading up his gun as he did so. "Course not," he said. "We're just an experiment to them."

"But not all of us have been turned," Ethan said. "We're still fine, there are still people here who are all right. My father wouldn't just abandon me, not if he thought—"

"Ethan," Cain said, voice sharp, and Ethan dropped off immediately. "Your rich-as-fuck daddy knew what was coming and he still let you stay behind. No one's coming, OK?"

Ethan took a step forward, blanket slipping off his shoulders and falling to the ground, but he hardly noticed. "What do you mean, he knew what was coming? He didn't know, he wouldn't have let me—"

"They all knew!" Cain barked, turning round glare daggers at Ethan, upper lip curling. "_They all knew_. That lab is owned by the fucking state," he said, striding forward, hand on his gun shaking "Everyone knew, and everyone worth saving got the fuck out of here before it was too late. And if you hadn't been so fucking _stupid_ then you'd be gone too."

Cain leaned back just a bit, looking at Ethan with such intense disgust that Ethan felt his breath catch in his throat, honestly scared of Cain in that moment. He tried not to let it show though, lifted his chin and looked Cain square in the eye. "I don't believe you."

Cain's nostrils flared. He held Ethan's gaze for a tense moment before eventually he stepped back. "No one's coming," he said flatly, expression turning blank. "You want to be saved, you'd better do it all on your own, princess."

Ethan hadn't even realized how much he had hoped for rescue until the fantasy had been so effectively snatched away from him. He opened his mouth to say something—that he didn't believe that, that Cain didn't know what he was talking about—anything to cover up the dark, yawning pit that seemed to have opened up in his stomach, but Cain walked over to the warehouse door and hauled it open before he got a chance.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

He disappeared outside and Ethan took a breath to steady himself, slipped a hand into his pocket to finger the scrap of paper, and then followed.

The sky was a uniform gray, with no sign of the sun. A sharp breeze blew across Ethan's face as he hurried after Cain. He pulled his new shirt a little tighter around himself and picked up the pace until he reached Cain's side.

The auto body shop was indeed just down the street. They reached it in a matter of minutes; the sagging roof and chipping blue paint coming slowly into focus as they got nearer. Ethan pulled ahead when they drew level with the building, making to open the door, but Cain caught his hand before he could touch the handle.

"What?" Ethan made to shake him off and reach toward the door again, but Cain's grip tightened. He jerked on Ethan's arm and pulled him around the side of the building.

"What?" Ethan said again, forcibly pulling his arm away.

"We're going through the back," Cain said. He didn't wait for a response, just started walking away, glanced over his shoulder just long enough to check that Ethan was following.

A narrow alley lay behind the rundown building. Cain held his gun at the ready, eyes sweeping over the crumbling cement road and empty dumpsters. Ethan hovered at his shoulder, watching the tendons in his neck strain as he made sure the coast was clear. Then he turned and reached for the back door, opening it quick and stepping inside the building.

Ethan followed just behind him, nerves jangling since Cain looked wound up, was obviously expecting an attack. The thought had barely crossed Ethan's mind that maybe he should have brought more than just his knife, when suddenly Cain's rifle discharged and a body slumped to the ground.

In the ringing silence afterward, Ethan's eyes found Cain in the darkness, just a little ways ahead of him. Ethan swallowed past his heart in his throat and said, "Is—is that all?"

Cain's head jerked to the side at the sound of something rattling. "What—" he started to say, and then suddenly his gun was up, at his shoulder. Ethan followed his wide-eyed gaze and saw a dozen fast-moving figures coming toward them out of a utility closet.

"Fuck," Ethan said, took his knife out but shit, he was never any good with it, couldn't even kill properly with a _gun_.

"Go," Cain snapped, head jerking to the left, gun firing.

Ethan followed his gaze, saw a door to the left that led to the main room of the building. He rushed toward it, dodged a zombie who reached for him along the way and then said, "Cain!"

A few more quick gunshots and then Cain had squeezed through the door just behind him. He and Ethan fell across it, sealing it closed just as a heavy weight pushed from the other side.

"Find your shit," Cain said, digging his shoulder into the door.

Ethan didn't need telling twice, pulled out his list with shaky hands and started running up the aisles to find everything. He could hear banging on the door between the store and the stockroom, and whenever he got a glance at Cain, it was to find him being rattled against the thin wood, entire body flat against the door and heels digging into the floor.

"Ethan, hurry the fuck up," he said at one point, and when Ethan next ran past him in search of piston rings, he could see a fine sheen of sweat against Cain's face, body being periodically jolted away from the door as the zombies threw themselves at it over and over again. Ethan could hear the creaking splinter of wood being broken apart and felt his heart jump back up into his throat.

"I just need—I need—" he muttered to himself, list slipping through his sweaty fingers, ears attuned to the _thud…thud…thud_ and steady cracking of the door. He had just doubled back to the second aisle—camshafts, he had seen camshafts there, right?—when Cain's stream of curses reached a crescendo and Ethan heard a searing _creak_ and then a sharp crack.

Ethan swung around the side of the aisle and saw Cain scrambling backwards, getting a grip on his gun to aim at the zombies that were suddenly flooding through the collapsed door.

"Are you finished yet?" Cain yelled toward him, clambering onto the front desk to rain shots down onto the crowd.

_Almost, _Ethan thought; couldn't quite force the word from his throat. He only needed one more thing…just one more thing. All of the other parts were tucked precariously under his arms or in his pockets, and Ethan tried to keep hustling even as he felt them jostle around.

When the sound of Cain's gun suddenly went silent, Ethan looked up, mouth dry, heart banging in his ears. Cain was reloading, the ground around him littered with bodies, but Ethan could hear more movement from the backroom, more them pushing through.

A quick shuffle and a few groans from the zombies. Cain's gun discharged twice and then he said, _"Are you fucking done yet?"_

"No," Ethan gasped, looking around wildly, eyes scanning across the shelves, dozens of parts blurring in front of him. "Spark plug," he muttered. "The engine needs a spark plug."

Suddenly Cain was just beside him, pulling on his arm, dragging him toward the front entrance. "Not anymore. Come on."

Ethan jerked away, ran around the outside of the room, glancing at all the rare parts here, things no one would ever need. "How is the engine supposed to start without a _spark_?" he snapped.

He waited for Cain's retort, but it never came. The remaining zombies were still converging on them, lurching across the floor, empty hands reaching toward them.

"Find it quick," Cain said, pulling a knife out of the back of his belt and holding it at the ready. He had barely completed the motion when one of the zombies reached him, lunged forward, and Cain had to bring the knife down fast, lodging it in its skull and then jerking it out again.

Ethan shivered as he watched the ragged, flopping body of the undead crumple to the floor. He returned to his search just as he felt movement at his back. He turned around quickly, but it was only Cain, still cutting down zombies, keeping Ethan protected.

He still couldn't find the fucking spark plugs though, and this whole trip would have been pointless if they went back to the warehouse and Ethan didn't have any way to ignite the engine. Ethan turned and glanced around, looked past Cain toward the far end of the store. He focused in, tried to calm himself down enough to really look at each row, each bin.

His gaze rose to examine the top shelf of the aisle next to his, and felt his heart leap. There they were, just there, up above them.

"I see them," he said, darted out from behind Cain.

"Wait, shit, _stop_!" Cain shouted, but Ethan was already moving, lunging.

He got to the aisle and scattered bolts all across the floor as he emptied their jar and shoved his supplies in instead. Ethan put it on the shelf and then put his feet on the second row and hoisted himself up, felt the whole structure creak ominously. He gritted his teeth, shook the hair out of his eyes and reached toward the bin of spark plugs.

"Watch it!" Cain yelled, and suddenly there was heavy weight on Ethan's legs.

He thrashed, felt his hands slip from the shelf and begin to fall. His chin hit the metal structure on the way down, teeth clacking together hard. Then Ethan's chest hit the floor, hipbone landing painfully hard on the tile. He gasped and managed to turn over, take his knife out and swing it upwards.

The zombie above him fell back and Ethan got to his feet, one hand reaching out to steady himself against the shelf. Cain made his way over at that point, knife bloody and a long scratch down his cheek.

"Come _on_," he said. "I'll hold them off."

Ethan nodded and sucked in a breath. He stowed his knife and started to get on the shelf again. When he saw something flash between the shelves, something in the aisle beside theirs, he made to say something, made to lower himself to the floor, but he didn't get the chance.

A push against the rickety metal and that was all it took. Ethan clung on, didn't know what else he could do, as he began to fall backwards. The contents of the shelves began to shift and clatter against the floor. Ethan watched as the spark plugs tilted and then began to scatter as well. His stomach swooped as the shelf began to rush toward the floor. He reached up blindly and closed his hand around something that felt promising. Cain swore and suddenly Ethan could feel something wrap around his middle, pull him off the shelf.

Not quite fast enough. He hit the ground again, all the breath rushing out of him as something fleshy fell on top of him. Then came the shelf.

Ethan's hands came up to cover his head at the same time as he felt a hot _whuff_ of air in his ear. The metal structure clanged loudly against the floor, bending and twisting, partially falling atop of him. There was no moment of reprieve.

At once, he heard more shifting metal, heard the steady stream of curses in his ear that let him know that the fleshy body on top of his was Cain's. He turned over as soon as Cain had unpinned him.

Cain jumped to his feet, ready to get right into the fray again, but he stumbled across the littered floor and lifted a hand to his head, leaning heavily against the other shelf.

"Are you—"

"Watch out!" Cain said, gesturing shakily behind him.

Ethan whirled around, didn't have time to reach for his knife, just elbowed the zombie in the nose and reeled it back, got some distance between them so he could get his knife out and stick it in the head.

"Cain, a little help," Ethan said, already fighting with another one, avoiding the outstretched arms and gaping mouth as best he could.

When that one fell, he chanced a glance back at Cain, who lifted a hand to the back of his head and then examined the redness that was left behind when he pulled it away. He took a few swaying steps forward, but he continued to clutch at the shelf, looking as though he could hardly support his weight.

Ethan paused long enough to kill another zombie and then he turned and hurried to Cain. He gripped his arm and slung it around his own shoulders, pulling him away from the shelf and toward the front doors. He caught sight of his jar along the way and took note of its location pressed halfway under a wobbly little table.

He wrestled the front door open and pushed Cain outside, darted back into the dankness of the store to get down on his hands and knees and get the jar. When he turned around again, he was unsurprised to find himself cornered. He leapt to his feet, leaned down, and shouldered his way through the crowd.

He could feel open bones and stiff, cold skin brush against him, could smell decaying flesh and festering clothes, but he kept moving, kept shoving straight through. When he broke free, he gulped in a deep breath, threw his jar outside onto the street and made to close the door behind him. A sharp sting slid across his wrist as he reached inside for the handle, but Ethan didn't pull away, just kicked away the zombie nearest and pulled the door closed.

He picked up his jar again, grabbed Cain's wrist and started hauling them back toward the warehouse. After a few minutes, when Cain's face was alarmingly pale and there was no sign of any zombies following them, Ethan slowed.

"Are you—" he began to ask, but Cain just glared, face clammy with sweat and gaze much less intense than it would have been ordinarily.

"You'd better tell me you got everything, or I'm gonna wring your neck," he said.

Ethan looked down at the jar in his hands. He felt a moment of terror when he realized that he didn't have a spark plug, but then he realized that he was still clutching something in his right hand. He opened it slowly and saw the spark plug sitting inside, so simple.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's everything."

Cain still looked ghostly, sick, but there was something hovering in his eyes, something sharp and intense and very foreign. Something _happy._

When they got back to the warehouse, Cain pulled open the backdoor of the car, threw his gun and knife inside and collapsed in right after them, groaning.

"Fuck, that was close," he said.

Ethan set his supplies down on the table, kept his back to Cain and listened to the creaking of the car as he got adjusted. "Yeah," he said. "Your friend would have been a big help back there."

Cain snorted. "Yeah. Too bad he shows up whenever the fuck he wants."

Ethan pressed a hand to the stinging skin of his wrist, saw that the sleeve of his shirt was wet with blood.

"Still," Cain went on, "doesn't matter." His voice got a little quieter, drifting off. "We got what we needed."

Ethan swallowed past the lump in his throat and rolled back the cuff to get a look at the thin skin beneath.

"And we're fine," Cain said. "We're both fine."

Ethan blinked, breath still in his lungs. He ran a thumb over the bloody teeth marks, skin red and irritated. He looked up at the wall in front of him, pushing down his sleeve to cover the bite.

"Yeah," he said, voice hollow. "We're fine."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So late, I'm sorry! Hopefully I'll be quicker with updates in the future. Also, if you're interested, I'm on tumblr now (link in my profile) so we can all mutually follow each other! Hooray! Enjoy :)

-EM

Perdition: Part VII

Ethan worked on the engine for the rest of the day, listening to Cain's soft breathing from inside the car, feeling the hot skin of his wrist pulse every time he flexed his hand. For the most part, he tried not to think about it, just kept his focus on tightening and replacing, on making sure everything was in its place.

He took a wrench to one of the bolts and started twisting, throbbing skin on the inside of his wrist starting up, distracting him. When his hand shook too much to hold the tool, when his arm hurt too much to ignore, Ethan dropped the metal instrument to the ground with a clang and then slumped next to it, leaning back against the car.

He worked up the sleeve of his shirt, gritting his teeth at the aching, red skin beneath, the sharp indentations of each individual tooth. He closed his eyes, feathered his fingers across his wrist and felt a grim sort of pleasure at the sharp pain it elicited.

"Fuck," he said quietly, lifting his head and then letting it fall back against the frame of the car with a thunk. _"Fuck."_

Ethan pressed his fingers into the bite, breath catching at the sharp pain. He thought about this very morning, only a few hours ago, when he had said that there was still a chance for rescue. Because he hadn't been bitten. Because he was clean.

He bit his lip, pushed his fingers down harder, broken flesh bending under the pressure. Maybe there was no chance for rescue anyway, but now he knew without any doubt that there was no chance for him. None at all.

He had known this when he started working on the car again, known it as Cain lay down with nothing but a gash on the back of his head from the fallen shelf. Ethan wouldn't be saved, would have already shot himself if he had the guts. As it was, Cain would find out soon enough. Cain would kill him. Ethan hoped he had the engine done by then; at least one of them could still get out of here.

Ethan jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He slapped a palm over his wrist, covering the bite, and opened his eyes.

Cain's friend was kneeling just in front of him, face blank. His eyes, however, slowly followed a trail to Ethan's arm, and then he looked back up. Ethan dropped his hand, let the bite mark show since the jig was up anyway.

The other's eyes flicked down again, then he reached forward. Ethan twitched back, curling his arm toward his chest. Cain's friend blinked and reached forward again, holding Ethan's gaze, his hands slow. When he put hands on Ethan's arm and pulled it gently from his chest, Ethan allowed it to happen. The pale eyes followed the curve of the bite just before he took Ethan's sleeve and pulled it down again, settling it into place over the broken skin.

Ethan frowned, swallowed around the lump in his throat. "What—"

"Shh," he said, barely more than a whisper, just a puff of air in Ethan's direction. "It's OK."

He stood up before Ethan could say anything else, and Ethan watched as he walked away, walked back towards Cain. Ethan didn't think much of it until he heard the car door open, heard Cain grunt and jerk awake with a curse a moment later.

Ethan blanched and struggled to his feet, wrist throbbing painfully as he banged it against the open hood of the car in his haste. He took a few quick steps forward, hoping to stop him, to grab him, to keep him from talking to Cain, but the small form was already whispering quick and fast in Cain's ear, lips buzzing.

Ethan could see Cain through the windshield, could see the scowl on his face as his friend whispered. Ethan leaned a hand against the cold glass. He felt shaky, skin icy and tight. It was that fast—he had held onto this secret for all of a few hours before it had been revealed. Now Cain's friend was surely telling him what had happened, was telling him that Ethan had to be taken care of before he turned.

This was it. This was the moment when Cain stood up, grabbed his gun and shot him. This was the moment he died.

Ethan watched as Cain's friend leaned back, watched as Cain stood and exited the car. His eyes flicked to Ethan, who unconsciously took a step back, hand sliding off the windshield.

Cain ducked back inside the car to pick something up off the floor—something with a long round cylinder at the front: His gun. Ethan tracked his movements as Cain started toward him, his heart trip-hammering in his chest. He wanted to look Cain in the eye, wanted to show that he wasn't afraid, but he was scared out of his mind; scared of dying even when his impending death was branded onto the inside of his wrist; a constant, throbbing reminder.

He finally looked up when Cain was just in front of him.

Cain's face was closed-off and unreadable, his usual slight scowl still in place. He shifted his grip and Ethan sucked in a breath, took another step back.

Then, Cain said, "The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I—" Ethan said. "What are you doing?"

"Supply run," Cain said, as though it were obvious. "The grocery store on eighth is safe right now." When Ethan just continued to look at him, he said, "Is that _all right_ with you?"

Ethan managed a shaky nod, but Cain was already looking away, toward the other dark-haired figure. "You coming?"

The other shook his head slowly, dark hair shining from the sunlight peeking in through the roof. Cain's eyes narrowed. His gaze swept between the two of them for a tense moment, lip curling, before he turned and stalked away.

The heavy warehouse door slid shut behind him with a clang, and then everything was silent.

Ethan gave himself a moment to breathe before he turned to Cain's friend. He was surprised and unnerved to find him much closer than before, though Ethan hadn't heard him move.

"What do you want?" he asked because the guy hadn't told Cain, whom he obviously trusted, and now he was looking at Ethan with an expression verging on expectant.

"To talk," he said.

Ethan didn't see much point in that, he was bitten and there was no cure and no amount of talking in the world would change that or make him feeling better about it. But this guy had protected him, kept him alive for a little while longer, and if he wanted to talk, Ethan figured he at least owed him that much.

"You talk," he said, flexing his hands and advancing on the car again. "I'm working."

However, as Ethan got back to work, it seemed clear that any conversation between them would have to be initiated by himself. He glanced over toward the other as he leaned closer to examine the engine. He was running light fingers over his knife, hair falling into his face again.

"You didn't tell him," Ethan said, wiping grease onto his jeans.

No answer, but a moment later, a dirty cloth appeared in Ethan's peripheral. He took it, carefully wiping his hands as he muttered, "Thanks."

The other just nodded. Ethan sighed as he dived back under the hood. "Why didn't you tell him?" he asked.

Silence. Ethan was about to give up—he wasn't the one who said he wanted to talk, after all—when he heard a low, quiet voice answer.

"No reason to tell."

Ethan ran his fingers over the engine, examining all the connections while he contemplated that. Then, "When will you have a reason?"

The other made a quiet noise; maybe a laugh, or a sigh, but other than that, he didn't respond. Ethan tried to tamp down on the ominous feeling that sprouted in his gut, couldn't bring himself to look at the other man.

"I'll find one."

Ethan looked up, smacked his head against the underside of the hood and groaned. "What does that mean?" he gasped.

The smaller one smiled, relaxed his grip on the knife and began to twirl it in his hand, casting Ethan a sidelong glance. "He needs to know."

"Then I'll tell him," Ethan said. "I will."

The silence between them lengthened. Ethan kept his eyes focused on the other's profile; the small nose, long eyelashes, and slight smirk. Ethan swallowed, gripped the hood of the car so hard it hurt. "Are you going to kill me?"

Grey eyes glanced up. "Not yet."

Ethan let out a slow breath, turned back to the car again. He reached toward the engine again but didn't touch anything when he saw how hard his hands were shaking. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?" It took a few seconds for Ethan to say the next sentence, the words getting stuck in his throat. "That you're going to kill me soon?"

The other was silent for so long that Ethan was almost certain the conversation was over. He had gotten himself under control and was back to working on the car when that quiet voice reached him again. "No. I wanted you to know that if I don't kill you, he will."

Ethan swallowed but stayed silent, didn't look up. Let the little jerk think he hadn't heard. Ethan tried to ignore him after that, tried to pretend that he wasn't aware of every move as he came to rest at Ethan's shoulder and watch what he was doing, and then eventually wander away again.

When Cain came back a while later, Ethan straightened up, set his shoulders. "Cain," he started, and already his voice was shaking, the blood at his wrist pulsing fast and hard. "I have to—"

"Catch," Cain said, cutting him off. Ethan fumbled the can that Cain tossed him, just managing to catch it by the tips of his fingers. Cain snorted then passed a can to his friend, who caught it smoothly, cupped against his palm.

Ethan scowled and glanced down. "You got beer?" he said. "We need _food_."

Cain held up the plastic grocery bag in his other hand. "Got that too, _princess_."

The only thing in the bag Ethan could make out was a bottle of whiskey poking out from the top. He frowned and opened his mouth, but Cain startled it closed again a moment later when he dropped everything at his feet and stepped right up to Ethan. He grabbed the beer out of his hands and cracked it open. Then he put a hand on the back of Ethan's neck and raised the can to his lips. "Drink," he instructed. "You fucking need it."

Ethan frowned and struggled free of Cain's hands, snatching the beer back a second later and taking a gulp. It was warm and a little flat, but otherwise fine. Cain gave a self-satisfied smirk when Ethan took another sip, then he stooped to pick up his own drink and took several large gulps, his throat working.

Cain sank back onto the ground, overturning the bag to reveal the bottle, a few bags of chips, and a dozen power bars.

"That's it?" Ethan said, sinking down next to him.

"The fuck were you expecting?" Cain snapped. "I could go back and get you some rotten meat if you want."

Cain's friend laughed, lowering himself on Cain's other side, eyes playing over the bottle of whiskey.

"Or how about a few black bananas, that sound good?"

Ethan sighed and drank more beer to avoid Cain's questioning, twitching down the sleeve of his shirt when it started to ride up.

They worked their way steadily through the six-pack, clumsily opened the bags of chips and passed them around. When they finally started in on the whiskey, Ethan was already feeling a bit buzzed. By the time the bottle was mostly empty, they were all flushed, Ethan leaning heavily against Cain's side.

"Know what I miss most?" Cain said, tilting the bottle up to his mouth and taking a swig. Ethan watched him with glazed eyes, reaching up to wipe away the dribble of amber liquid from Cain's chin.

Cain smirked and caught his good wrist, sucking the tip of Ethan's finger into his mouth and then releasing it with a quick graze of teeth. Ethan shuddered, took the bottle out of Cain's hands and drank some himself while Cain's friend said, "What?"

Ethan glanced up, almost forgot what Cain said in the first place. Cain apparently had too because it took him a minute to answer, eyebrows drawn in, before he finally snapped his fingers and smirked. "Strip clubs," he said.

His friend raised an eyebrow and then held out a hand for the whiskey. Ethan passed it to him, falling back against Cain just as he said, "Yeah. Strip clubs and girls with huge fucking tits."

Ethan laughed, couldn't help it. Cain leaned back, looked down at him with a grimace. "Something funny?"

Ethan shrugged, tried to keep a straight face, but still had to bite his lip to keep from snickering again. Cain opened his mouth, but then his face softened, turned thoughtful, gaze dropping. "You'd look good with tits."

"W—what?" Ethan spluttered, almost burst out laughing again.

Cain made to respond, but his friend cut across him, voice so quiet but so penetrating it immediately drew Ethan's attention. "What's the point?" he said. "He's already got a pussy."

Cain choked, then immediately started sniggering, chest shaking against Ethan's side.

"What does that mean?" Ethan said, glaring at the smaller one.

He shrugged, took a drink of whiskey and then carefully set the bottle down again. A little thought floated into Ethan's mind as he watched the clean movement, the revelation that maybe he shouldn't have drunk quite so much; shouldn't have let his guard down quite so far.

"Your father's a politician, right?" he said, running a finger around the rim of the whiskey bottle. "I suppose that explains…."

Cain's laughter quickly died off, and Ethan could practically see him sober up as his eyes focused on his friend. "Explains what?"

Grey eyes met brown. "Why he lies so much."

Ethan's mouth opened, eyes stuck on the whiskey bottle and the pale finger slowly running around and around the rim.

"What's he mean?" Cain said, and then when Ethan didn't respond, Cain grabbed him by the chin and forced their eyes to meet. "What's he mean?"

Ethan swallowed, mouth suddenly bone-dry and sticky, taste of alcohol strong. "I don't know," he whispered. His hand moved to the sleeve of his shirt and tugged it down again, an unconscious gesture.

He felt his stomach drop when Cain's eyes followed the movement, hand dropping from Ethan's face to grab his arm instead.

"Get off!" Ethan said, twisting away and feeling his wrist bend painfully. "Cain, get off!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cain said, and even when he was drunk he was still smart, still caught things that Ethan wished he wouldn't.

"Don't touch me," Ethan said, wrenching out of Cain's grip and scrambling away. His foot caught on the tire of the car and he fell back against the back door, didn't have a chance of getting away before Cain was plastered against him, breath hot on Ethan's face.

Cain's hand immediately found his arm, trying to force the sleeve up. Ethan struggled against him, but Cain just twisted his torso and dug his hipbone into the hollow of Ethan's stomach to force him still. Ethan hissed out a breath, stopped moving long enough for Cain to push up his sleeve and see the broken, irritated skin beneath.

Ethan struggled harder but almost at once Cain stepped away from him, dropped his arm and just looked at Ethan with his mouth hanging open.

"Cain," Ethan said, voice breaking. "Cain, I—I can ex—"

"What the fuck _is_ that?" Cain yelled.

Ethan jolted back against the car, not expecting the outburst. "It's—I was—at the auto shop—"

"You were _bitten_?" he said. "Why didn't you fucking _say something_?"

Ethan licked his lips, took a step forward, but paused when Cain countered his move by stepping back. Ethan took a breath. "It's fine," he said. "I'll still work on the engine. I'll get the car working. Then—" He broke off.

"Then what?" Cain said, eyes narrowing to slits. _"Then what?"_

"You don't have to do it," Ethan said, voice barely above a whisper. "You don't—I can do it. It'll be…easier."

Cain's expression didn't change. He continued to glare at Ethan, nostrils flaring. In a flat voice, he said, "Easier."

Ethan raised his hands in a hopeless gesture, saw Cain's gaze fix on the exposed bit of mutilated skin. He pushed his sleeve down again. He struggled for words, for something to say that could fix this, but there was nothing. "I'm sorry."

Cain didn't say anything for a long while. In a distant part of his brain, Ethan noted that his friend had come to stand just behind Cain's shoulder; his silent, loyal ally.

Then Cain said, "No, you're not. Not yet."

Ethan wasn't sure what he meant, his brain slow and sluggish, not from the alcohol, but from fear. He watched as Cain walked away from him, felt himself relax just a bit because if that was the worst of it, he could handle it.

When Cain picked something up off the ground, Ethan didn't immediately understand. Even when he turned back toward him, gun held tightly in his hand, Ethan was too shocked to be frightened, realized in that moment that he had never really expected Cain to kill him.

Then Cain stopped just in front of him and carefully raised the gun. His eyes were dark, hand steady, and Ethan recognized just how wrong he'd been.


	8. Chapter 8

Perdition: Part VIII

Ethan put his hands up by pure instinct, staring down the barrel of Cain's gun, eyes wide. "Cain," he whispered.

Cain spat something harsh and fast in Russian, jerking his head back towards his friend, who blinked and gave him a confused look. When he remained in place, Cain glared back over his shoulder and said something else in a short bark. His friend's expression didn't change, but Ethan thought he could sense annoyance as he turned and walked to the warehouse door. He took his sweet time about it, dragging his feet and sidling outside. Ethan watched the pale face slowly disappear as the door slid shut with a clang.

Ethan swallowed and turned back to Cain. "Why'd he leave?"

Cain's jaw flexed. "So I could do this."

Ethan didn't have a chance to ask what _this_ was before he saw Cain's finger tighten on the trigger and the gun discharged. Ethan gasped, jumped, couldn't believe that Cain had shot him, couldn't believe that he was still standing. He waited for the pain to set in, eyes clenched shut, but it never did.

When he felt a hand at his arm, he jerked away, elbow connecting painfully with the side of the car. His eyes snapped open, finding Cain's head bent, examining the bite.

"What—what are you doing?" Ethan breathed, then louder he said, "You _shot me_!"

Cain just snorted, lifting his gaze to meet Ethan's eyes. "If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

"Then why—"

"It'll get him off our back for a while," Cain said, jerking his head toward the door. "He won't stick around if he thinks I just killed you."

Cain stalked off and started searching the nearby tables and benches, finally digging out a beaten up first aid kit. He rifled through it, pulling out a long length of bandage. He came back to Ethan and began winding it carefully around his arm. Ethan watched it all in silence, just waiting for more explanation, but it didn't seem forthcoming.

"Cain."

Cain grunted, hands still working at Ethan's arm, gun abandoned on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked. "Why didn't you just shoot me?"

Cain smirked and tucked in the ends of the bandage, securing it in place. "Not part of the plan, is it, sweetheart?"

Ethan blinked. "What plan?"

Cain patted Ethan's hip and then bent to pick up his gun again, checking his pockets for ammo. "We're going back to the lab."

"What?" Ethan asked, frowning, watching as Cain began gathering his things. "Why?"

Cain glanced up, looking at him as though it were obvious, eyes narrowed. "To find the cure."

Ethan felt his breath come quicker at that, heart leaping in his chest in the second before he was able to push the hope away. "Cain," he said, reaching a hand out, but Cain brushed past him to get in the car and get his jacket. "Cain." Ethan swallowed. "There is no cure."

"Course there is," Cain muttered, and Ethan didn't get another chance to protest before Cain had turned back toward him, dropped his gun, and lunged forward.

Ethan cringed back toward the car, couldn't help himself as Cain seized him by the front of his shirt. But then Cain's mouth was on his, hard and hot, tongue pressing wet against his and Ethan relaxed, pushed a hand into the tangled hair at the nape of Cain's neck.

It only lasted for a minute though, Cain pulling away before Ethan had really even begun to appreciate that he was there. Then he said, "Come on," and gripped Ethan by his good arm, pulling him toward the exit.

Cain glanced around as he left the warehouse, looked out onto the street. Then he tugged on Ethan's arm, saying, "OK, he's gone."

They hurried down the street, taking a different way than they had before back to the lab. Cain kept glancing over his shoulder as they passed by the taller buildings. Ethan had a feeling he was more concerned with his friend ambushing them than any zombies.

"Where'd you even meet him?" Ethan asked as they walked. A few slow undead passed by them, but Cain just glanced at them and kept moving, indifferent.

"Right after everything went to shit," he said. "Trying to fight off four of them with a fucking _knife_." He snorted and shook his head.

"So you helped him get away?" Ethan asked, jumping as a rat skittered toward him from a dark alcove of the alley.

Cain said, "Tch," and then hesitated, looking up toward the windows above him. He stayed staring for a long moment before he continued toward the street. "I was going to," he said, "I knew him from the old neighborhood, our moms were friends. He'd killed them all by the time I got there, though. Didn't need any help from me."

"He doesn't like me," Ethan said, the words popping out of his mouth before he could chastise himself for how stupid he sounded.

Cain just shrugged, glanced over his shoulder at Ethan. "Doesn't like anybody anymore."

"He likes you," Ethan muttered.

Cain just shrugged again but didn't say anything else. They made it to the lab with little incident and slipped inside through the main doors. Ethan headed toward the same hallway they had walked down when they were here before, but Cain paused at a map on the wall, detailing the different sections of the building.

"Research and development," he muttered, glancing back toward the front doors. "This way."

Ethan followed him down a corridor to the left of the entrance. It looked almost the same as the other, with large glass windows on either side. Cain didn't pause outside any of them, though, simply headed straight through. He hesitated at a second map and then kept going, finally leading them toward a hallway with a dead-end; nothing but a large gray windowless door at the head of the corridor.

Cain strode right up to it, digging around in his pocket until he extracted a white keycard. He swiped it in front of the card reader to the right of the door, but instead of opening the door, the card reader flashed red, the door remaining firmly shut.

"Fuck," Cain said, trying the handle, but nothing happened. "Fuck, why isn't it working?" he muttered, swiping the card again.

Ethan glanced around at the surrounding corridor. The light here was dim, the paneling on either side of them dark. There were no windows. He took the card from Cain's hand and looked at it.

Next to the picture of a squat man in a white coat it said, _Wallace Rutherford, Lab Technician: Bioinformatics._ And then, below that: _2._

"This is good," he said, looking around again.

Cain looked at him, incredulous. "How is this good?"

"The number," Ethan said, showing the card to Cain. "Two. He doesn't have high enough clearance to get into this room. Which means—"

"Whatever's in there is important," Cain finished, turning back to back at the door.

"We need to find another card," Ethan said, turning to head back down the hallway again.

Cain followed just behind him, searching every room they could get into, running across only a few zombies that they easily overcame. By the tenth room, Ethan was sweating, his mind foggy, and he had a feeling this was not just normal exertion.

Cain glanced at him when Ethan put his hand on top of a black lab table to steady himself, trying to swallow down the vomit that was slowly working its way up his throat.

"What is it?" Cain asked.

Ethan just shook his head carefully, felt his stomach swoop at the motion.

"Are you—hey, five!"

Ethan looked up, confused. It took a moment for him to focus on Cain crouched beside a crumpled lab coat, took even longer to piece together what he was saying.

"That's the highest one we've found, right?" he asked, standing, holding a new keycard in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, Ethan nodded. He heard Cain start to come toward him, then heard the sound of something slick sliding across the floor. Cain cried out. Ethan focused on Cain again just in time to see him aim his gun down at the figure on the floor and splatter its head across the cabinets.

"Jesus Christ," Cain said, staring for a long moment at the zombie. Then he started inspected himself, looking for any bites. "Didn't think the little bastard was still kicking, goddamn it."

Ethan was still leaning heavily against the table, arm trembling. Cain came toward him again, hand stretched out, but paused. Ethan knew why. From the corridor, he heard moans, and the sound of scuffling.

"Shit," Cain said. "We made too much noise." He grabbed at Ethan's arm and hauled him out of the rom.

Ethan just barely managed to stay on his feet as Cain dragged him around, got a look down the hall when they were outside and saw that they had indeed attracted a crowd.

"How many clearance levels are there?" he asked Cain as they hurried back toward the dead-end.

"How the hell should I know?" Cain asked. "You sure the lock to that door isn't just dead?"

Ethan felt a horrible clenching sensation in his stomach. For a moment he was certain he was going to be ill, but he beat it down. "No."

Cain didn't respond, but Ethan could feel the grip on his arm tighten for a moment. When they were a few yards away from the door, a zombie suddenly jerked out from an entrance to the left, startling them both. Cain dropped his grip on Ethan and raised his gun, but not before the zombie had grabbed his arm and started pulling him in.

Cain yelled, dropped his gun in his haste to extract himself from its grip. Ethan watched it fall as though in slow motion, Cain's trashing—either by accident or on purpose—kicking it right to him. Ethan picked it up, hands shaking, stomach flip-flopping, and aimed.

He managed to pray that he wouldn't hit Cain in the moment the gun discharged.

The bullet just barely managed to hit the zombie's head, awkwardly spinning its neck around before it dropped Cain and collapsed.

"Shit, shit, shit," Cain was muttering. He seemed content to just stay there for a moment, looking shall-shocked, but then the others had joined them and Cain snapped out of it, snatching his gun out of Ethan's hands and running toward the door again.

Ethan was right behind him, got out the keycard and swiped. The light went out for a brief moment before it returned red.

_"_Fuck!" Cain shouted, one fist connecting with the heavy metal. "_Fuck_!"

Ethan swiped the card again, heart pounding in his throat, but still nothing. The zombies were drawing closer, Cain turning around to aim his gun at them, already shooting the ones that got dangerously near.

"This isn't going to last long," he said, removing more rounds from pocket.

"I know," Ethan said, the sudden surge of adrenalin sharpening his mind just a bit. "I know." He swiped the card again and again, but still nothing. He could feel Cain getting closer to him, drawing back.

Out of pure frustration, Ethan smacked the card reader hard with the heel of his palm, jostling it around. The light flickered to yellow before turning red again. Ethan's breath caught. He swiped the card one more time, eyes fixed on the little light, which stayed steady at red, went out, then turned green.

He wrenched the door open and fell inside, pulling on the back of Cain's shirt and hauling him in too. Ethan pushed the door shut as fast as he could, just before the hoard of undead fell upon, lashing out at the door instead.

For a few moments, neither of them did anything except sit on the ground and breathe, listening to the steady _thud, thud, thud_, of zombies trying to get past the heavy iron door. When Ethan finally did turn to survey the room, he felt his heart stop.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This was by far the cleanest room he had seen in the lab; no papers, no beakers, no petri dishes. Each and every surface was immaculately clean. He didn't even know what to do, or what to say. He turned to Cain, who had just looked at the room as well.

His face was empty, as though he couldn't understand what he was looking at. He stood and picked his way slowly across the room, gun hanging loosely in his hand. He ran a tanned hand across the lab table and then opened a drawer just beneath it. He sucked in a breath, and then opened another.

He stooped to open a cabinet then, gun clattering to the ground. "No," he said, slamming the door shut. Ethan had gotten a glimpse inside before it closed; empty.

"No," he said again, hurrying around the room, throwing open every door, every drawer he could find. _"No, goddamn it!"_

Ethan closed his eyes as Cain's shout reverberated around the room. The short burst of adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving him weak, shaky, and nauseated.

"Cain," he said, but Cain was ranting, couldn't even hear him.

"—the fuck were they thinking taking all this shit with them, where the fuck _is_ everything, it was supposed to be in here, it should have been—maybe in another part of the building, maybe this is just the wrong room, we have to keep looking, we should go back, look at the map again, maybe there's—"

_"Cain,"_ Ethan said again, louder.

Cain broke off. "What?" he snapped. "What? What the fuck is your plan?" he asked.

Ethan just shook his head. When he opened his eyes, he realized that he was staring down at the floor, bent almost in half. A moment later, he fell hard to the floor, back hitting the solid door.

"Ethan," Cain said, and in a flash he was right there.

"Cain, I need to go home."

Cain's eyes narrowed, mouth curling to a sneer. "What do you mean? We can't just _leave_, we have to find the cure."

Ethan wanted to laugh, could feel his lips turn up, but he couldn't muster anything more than that. "We don't even know if there is one."

"What kind of sadistic fuck makes a virus with no antidote?" Cain snapped. "Of course there's a cure."

Ethan's head rolled against the door. "Cain, take me home."

"What, so you can just give up and _die_?" he said. "So I can put you down like a rabid dog?"

Ethan narrowed his eyes as well as he could, reached up and gripped the front of Cain's shirt to bring him closer. "So I don't have to die on a wild goose chase."

Cain said, "Tch," and pulled out of Ethan's grip with ease. Ethan closed his eyes again, sure that Cain was going to go back to ranting, but then he felt hands on his arms, pulling him to his feet.

Cain slung one of Ethan's arms over his shoulders, holding tight to Ethan's waist with his other hand. He led Ethan away from the door they had come out of, toward a door on the far end of the room that Ethan hadn't even noticed before.

Cain led them through it, and Ethan was surprised to see that it led outdoors, to a round, flat expanse of land with a giant letter 'H' written in white paint. _Helipad_, he managed to think. _How they got everything out so fast._

Then darkness took him. He came to again, cradled against a warm chest, Cain saying his name in his ear.

"Hmm?"

"Where's your place?"

"Tenth Avenue," Ethan mumbled. "The Rose. 506."

He vaguely realized that his feet weren't touching the ground and that he was swaying back and forth with the movement of Cain's body, but then he was out again. He slipped back into that heavy and penetrating darkness, a darkness that seemed to grow more forbidding and more substantial with each breath he took.

A/N: Let me just stress that this is NOT the end. There will probably be one more part to this, at least that's what I'm planning. :)

-Em


	9. Chapter 9

Perdition: Part IX

Ethan roused again a while later, realized that he was in his apartment, in his bed. He turned over; saw Cain sitting on the floor beside the front door, gun disassembled yet again, his hand methodically cleaning the separate pieces. Ethan sat up, the room remarkably stationary, his stomach stable.

"Cain?"

Cain's head jerked up. He abandoned his gun to walk toward Ethan, gripping his shoulder when Ethan tried to get out of bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting some water," Ethan said, trying to shake him off.

Cain just scowled and put both hands on Ethan's shoulders, shoving him back down to the bed. "Don't move," he said.

"Cain—"

"Don't move," Cain snapped, holding a hand out. He waited, staring Ethan down. When Ethan remained seated, he walked to the kitchen. Ethan heard him opening cabinets, floorboards creaking. Eventually he came back, bottle of water in his hand.

"Thanks," Ethan said, taking it and drinking. The water had barely passed his lips before Ethan choked and spat it out again, spluttering.

"What?" Cain asked, taking the bottle from him. "What is it?"

Ethan rubbed his throat, spitting onto the ground, his mouth burning. "It tastes—it _hurts_."

Cain frowned, lifted the bottle to his lips and drank. His expression didn't change, no sign of discomfort passing across his features. When he lowered the bottle again, he was stony-faced.

What little relief Ethan had felt when he woke quickly diminished. It seemed that he wasn't getting better at all; he was getting worse, moving through the stages, heading into darkness and death.

"We should go back to the warehouse," Ethan said.

Cain's answer was a long time coming. He was staring at the bottle of water, hardly blinking. Eventually he said, "Why?

"The car," Ethan said. "It's not done yet."

Cain sneered when he raised his head to look Ethan in the eye. "So? What do you care?"

Ethan sighed, rubbed his eyes, could feel a headache coming on. He felt thirsty; parched, really, but the thought of drinking water again made him feel nauseated.

"I'm not just going to stop," he said. "Just because I was bitten doesn't mean you shouldn't still have a way out of here."

Cain blinked. "Alone."

"What?"

Cain didn't answer. He walked back to his gun and began to put it together again, his movements slow; thoughtful. Ethan watched him, something that felt a lot like unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Have you ever thought about it?" Cain asked.

Ethan frowned. "About what?"

He lifted up his fully-assembled gun, setting it upright; butt on the floor. From where he was kneeling behind it, Cain leaned forward, wedging the barrel under his chin. He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Ethan said. His hand moved to his wrist and the bandage covering the bite.

Cain's eyes followed the movement. He relaxed back and let the gun fall to the floor again. "You ever think of it before that?"

Ethan swallowed and nodded. "Right after everything happened…when everyone started changing. I got back to my house a few days after reports started coming in about how weird some people were acting. My house was close to where I was working, on the east side of town. It was a really dumpy place; I never stayed there when I could avoid it."

Cain was watching him silently, back against the front door, head tilted back and watching Ethan was heavy-lidded eyes.

"I hadn't been there in a few days. The street was empty…silent. I'd never heard it that quiet before." He took a breath. "The first thing I heard when I went in was something banging. Over and over again. The back door was open, moving back and forth in the wind. I thought someone had broken in; I was about to call the cops when someone came at me. The lights were off; I couldn't see anything."

Ethan hesitated, looking down at his hands in his lap, the white of the bandage peeking out from beneath his sleeve.

"You kill it?"

Ethan looked up at Cain's words, could feel himself grow clammy just at the memory. Picking up the closest thing to him; a poker from the fireplace, darkness, flashes of light from the back door, lifting the steel rod, tripping over a footstool and falling. He had felt the person lean over him, jabbing up with the poker without thinking. It was pure luck that he had managed to hit the head, to kill the thing right then and there.

"First time I ever killed anyone," he said. "When I realized…the kind of world that I'd be living in from then on, I wanted to end it."

"Why didn't you?"

Ethan licked his lips. "I'm not sure. I didn't think I'd be able to kill people…not even to protect myself, but…I always did. I always fought back. I _couldn't_ give up, not even on my own life."

Cain snorted. "That doesn't count."

Ethan stared at him, confused. "What?"

Cain hoisted himself to his feet, picking up his gun again. "They don't count. They're not people anymore."

"They were once, though," Ethan said, headache really beginning to make itself known. "The guy in my house…he was my neighbor. He was always playing cards, carried a pack with him everywhere. All those _things_….they had lives and jobs and friends and..." He had to stop to take a breath before he continued, "and families."

Ethan tried not to think much about his parents; didn't want to believe it when Cain said that they were never going to come back for him. Now though, he couldn't stop their faces from floating into his mind. He was positive he would never see them again, knew it wouldn't be much longer until he was dead or turned…until he was hopeless; beyond saving. Ethan suddenly missed them so fiercely that he felt his chest tighten, had to close his eyes and beat back the overwhelming sadness that threatened to drag him down. God, what he wouldn't give to see them again, just one more time, to tell them he loved them and that he forgave them.

He opened his eyes and looked up. Cain was putting on his jacket. "Who…who was the first one you killed?" he asked.

"My mom," Cain said without hesitation. "Then my dad."

"In your apartment?" Ethan asked quietly.

Cain was zipping up his jacket and looking down as he said, "Yep. Took forever to scrape them off the walls."

Ethan's breath caught, thought Cain was too nonchalant to be sincere. No matter what Cain said, they _were_ people once. "I'm sorry."

Cain caught Ethan's eye and raised his eyebrows. "Well, are we going?"

Surprised, Ethan nodded. He stood and followed Cain out the door. He looked back just once before leaving, taking it all in. The apartment hadn't been his home before, but it had become his safe haven after. He never knew the person who had lived there before him, never knew what happened to them, but Ethan had come to consider the little apartment his home. He knew it was stupid, but that didn't stop him from saying a silent goodbye. Then he closed the door and turned away.

The sun was just beginning to set as they turned toward the warehouse. Cain was on guard as usual, gun at the ready, eyes peering into every shadow and alley that they passed. A few minutes in and he had to shoot a fast-moving zombie that was coming straight toward them. The man fell back with the force of the shot, mouth gaping and hands twitching for a few seconds afterwards. Then Cain grabbed Ethan's arm and dragged him forward, quickening their pace before more of them came at the noise.

A few blocks to the warehouse and Cain slowed to a stop. Ethan looked around, searching for the threat, but he didn't see anything. He looked at Cain, saw him squinting at a dumpster in the shadow of a tall, posh building.

Ethan opened his mouth to ask what he had seen, but before he got a chance, he saw the shadows move, something behind the dumpster shifting in the darkness. Cain kept the gun lowered.

"Hey!" Cain said. "Hiding now? Never would've pegged you for a coward."

Nothing. Then the shadows moved again, something coming toward them. Cain's friend stepped into the golden light of the setting sun. Unlike Cain, his gun was at the ready.

Cain took in the scene with a marked lack of emotion. After a moment, he said, "Tch. Planning on using that, then?"

The other nodded, said something quietly in Russian, eyes flicking toward Ethan. Then he looked back toward Cain, jerking his head to the side.

Cain sneered and shook his head, said something fast and quick. Ethan saw the hand on his gun tighten, his whole body tensing up, as though he were preparing himself for a fight. He shifted to the side just a bit, moving so that he was mostly in front of Ethan, and Ethan understood. The guy wanted to kill him, to put an end to it, to protect Cain before Ethan could turn him…or kill him.

When the guy took a step forward, Cain's gun came up. A steady stream of unintelligible sounds poured out of his mouth at the same time; obviously angry.

They stood facing each other for a long moment, both armed, ready to shoot. Then Cain lowered his gun, grabbed Ethan's arm and started walking them away. Ethan didn't miss the fact that Cain walked at his shoulder until they were at the warehouse; covering his back.

"So I guess he knows now," Ethan said, shakily sitting down on the hood of the car.

"Yeah," Cain agreed.

"What'd you tell him?"

"That he couldn't kill you," Cain said. "That there's a cure and we're going to find it."

Ethan watched Cain's back as he slid his gun onto the roof of the car and then leaned back against the front door. "Cain…."

"Aren't you going to get to work?" he snapped.

Ethan closed his eyes, rubbed at his temples, and then stepped away. He opened the hood, and then stood staring at the engine for a long moment. Finally, he picked up his tools and got back to work.

He didn't know how long he was working before he started feeling woozy, wasn't even sure that it didn't come along all of a sudden. All Ethan knew was that one moment he was checking over all his work, hardly daring to believe that he was done, that there wasn't anything else to do, and then the next he was on the ground, head connecting painfully hard with the concrete.

He gasped at the pain, vision swinging out of focus. Then everything turned to black.

#

It was the shouting that woke him. For a long moment, Ethan found the scene almost comforting in its familiarity; his mother and father were known to fight. On the mornings when Ethan woke into the chaos, he usually just kept his eyes shut, listening to their muted voices, waiting for it to stop, wondering what they could possibly be so angry about so early in the morning.

This was different though, the voices not muted at all, different from the yelling he was used to hearing. He opened his eyes, disoriented at the sight of the collapsing roof and the fact that he could see a blue-black sky and distant, twinkling stars.

He could also see someone standing just above him, tall and lean, with shaggy black hair. Ethan sat up, everything hitting him at once, recognizing Cain's voice even as he shouted in Russian, remembering everything, wishing he could just fall back into darkness, into thinking he was back home. Listening to his parents fight would have been exponentially better than listening to Cain try to protect him when they both knew it was pointless. Because Cain's friend was back; gun still in hand, facing Cain and watching as Ethan slowly came back to himself.

When Ethan moved, Cain broke off mid-rant and turned around, leaning over him. "Shit, what the fuck happened?" he asked.

He helped Ethan to his feet, grabbing his good wrist and hauling him up. The room swayed dizzyingly and Ethan had to close his eyes, tamp down on the nausea that surged in his stomach.

"I don't know," he said when he was able, opening his eyes and leaning back against the car. "I just finished the engine and I guess I fainted."

Cain opened his mouth, looking furious, then he paused, his expression turning blank. "You what?"

"I fainted," Ethan repeated.

"No—you finished the engine."

The throbbing in his head was back, beating steadily with his heartbeat, almost overwhelming in its loudness. "Yeah," Ethan muttered, raising a hand to his head. "Yeah, it's done."

Cain left his side without another word, rounding the front of the car to get into the driver's seat. Ethan was distracted by how odd it was to see anyone behind the wheel—he only ever used the back seat for sleeping; no point in sitting up front when the thing wouldn't run. But then the keys were in Cain's hand and he was just staring at them as though he were saying a silent prayer. Then he put the key in the ignition and turned it.

Ethan was holding his breath, waiting, some part of him almost positive that the engine wouldn't even turn over, that all his effort would have been wasted. But the car started, just like that, as if it had just been sitting and waiting for a chance to turn on.

Ethan sucked in a sharp breath, the room spinning faster, everything going out of focus, but he was smiling, couldn't help it. Cain was grinning too; a real grin, the realest Ethan had ever seen on him. Just like that though, it was gone, his eyes turning wide, shoving open the door of the car. Ethan didn't understand until he felt someone grab his arm, the bad one, and yank down the bandage covering his wound. Cain's friend jerked Ethan forward, but there was no gun in his hand, instead there was something short and sharp and he stuck it into the infected skin.

Ethan tried to pull away but the room was spinning so quickly, his stomach churning, and Cain's little friend was surprisingly strong.

Then Cain was there, shoving him away, grabbing at Ethan just as the nauseated feeling overwhelmed him. Ethan just managed to turn away before he started vomiting.

It seemed to go one forever, come out of him in buckets; an acidic stream that never ended. At one point Ethan was aware that Cain was almost entirely holding him up, all the strength gone out of his legs.

When it finally ended, Ethan couldn't even find the strength to wipe his mouth. He spat weakly onto the ground, allowed Cain to maneuver him back to lay against the car, who muttered, "Fuck…"

Cain's friend was in a near corner of the room, his lip bleeding freely. Ethan looked at the bite on his arm, then looked at the small man. As he watched, something fell out of his hand and onto the floor with a clatter. The thing rolled toward them, weak light from outside illuminating the surface: a syringe.

Cain realized what it was at the same time that Ethan did. "What the fuck did you do to him?" he asked.

The other wiped the blood from his mouth, then picked up a half-empty water bottle from a nearby bench and tossed it toward them. Ethan just managed to catch it, cradling it to his chest. The other said, "You're welcome." Then he slid open the warehouse door and left.

Ethan didn't know what to say or do, dumbly hanging onto the water bottle as if that would somehow give him answers. He watched as Cain picked up the syringe and examined it, frowning. Then he skirted around the pile of sick and removed the bottle from Ethan's grip, taking a swig.

"What is it?" Ethan asked, watching Cain's throat work.

"Water." He looked at the bottle curiously, then tilted the opening toward Ethan. "Thirsty?"

Ethan frowned and shook his head. "I can't."

"Try," Cain said, watching him closely.

He sighed, too exhausted to fight, and took the water from Cain, trying to prepare himself for another round of vomiting, for the burn to set in.

It never did. He drank, and it was just water. Ethan finished the bottle, throwing it aside. Cain was watching him, wide-eyed, then his gaze slowly returned to the needle in his hand.

Ethan's mouth gaped. He was positive he had never been more surprised in his life. "Is that—is that…how—"

"I don't know," Cain muttered. "That little shit—" He broke off, and Ethan startled when he made a sharp noise, realized a moment too late that Cain was laughing.

"What—"

He grabbed Ethan's bad wrist, removing the bandage and holding it up to Ethan's gaze. Ethan glanced down; saw at once what he had found so amusing. The skin that had once looked irritated and infected was already healing. The bite was scabbing over, the skin around it returning to its normal shade and consistency.

"Oh my God," Ethan said, holding it right in front of himself for closer inspection. "It's—that's—how is that possible?" His gaze turned to the syringe. "How did he _find_ that?"

"Who fucking cares?" Cain said, pushed Ethan's hand away from his face and grabbed him by the front of the shirt, hauling him forward.

"Cain—" Ethan said, turning his face away, horribly aware of the fact that he had just emptied his stomach a few minutes ago.

Cain just cupped a hand around his neck and turned Ethan's face forward again, kissing him before he could make any more objections, wrapping his arms around Ethan's torso and bending him against the front of Cain's body. Ethan didn't resist, grabbed at Cain's shoulders and pulled him down farther, could barely stop smiling long enough to kiss him properly.

#

Everything was ready to go the next day. Cain's friend hadn't come back, wasn't lingering around the warehouse as far as either of them could tell. Ethan put extra gas tanks into the trunk; the ones he had been collecting for months now, enough to get them pretty far.

They emptied the warehouse of anything useful, taking all the bullets and guns that they had and piling them into the backseat, along with all of their food and water. When there was nothing else to pack, nothing else to do, they both turned to look at each other.

"We should find him," Ethan said. "I need to thank him."

"He knows," said Cain.

Ethan bit his lip. "We can't leave him here."

Cain just snorted, dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Ethan. "He doesn't want to come."

"What?" Ethan's hand curled around the solid metal in his hand. "Why not? You asked him?"

"Yeah, I asked him. Said he wouldn't like it away from the city…nothing to do." Cain was smirking, but Ethan only frowned.

"He'll be all alone."

Cain shrugged, smile sliding off his face. "So if he gets lonely, he'll come find us."

"But how?" Ethan said. "_We_ don't even know where—" He broke off when Cain pulled something out of his pocket.

He rolled the syringe between his fingers, examining the numbers along the side. "He'll find a way."

Ethan opened his mouth then closed it again, frowning.

"Come on," Cain said. He opened up the passenger side door and got in, grabbing a gun from the back.

Ethan walked to the warehouse door and slid it all the way back, opening up half the wall, early morning sunlight streaming in. Ethan hesitated, taking in the city buildings and the silent, empty streets. Then he turned back to the car.

"You drive, I'll clear a path," Cain said as Ethan started the car.

Ethan just raised his eyebrows as Cain rolled down his window, resting his gun on the ledge. He put the car into drive, and then they were rolling out onto the street. Ethan glanced into the rearview mirror as they drove away, watched the warehouse grow smaller and smaller, then they turned a corner, and it was gone.

"Where to?" Ethan asked, resting his hands on the wheel, catching sight of the bite on his wrist; scabs already peeling off, leaving behind a ring of baby-pink skin.

"South," Cain said. "Out of the city, get to a farm."

"A farm?"

Cain was looking outside, watching the city streets roll by, his hair lifting in the breeze from the open window. "Not as many zombies in the middle of nowhere. Plus, we'd always have food."

"South it is," Ethan said, taking another corner toward the highway. A few zombies shuffled toward them, but they outstripped them easily, zooming past, Cain not even bothering to pretend he was going to shoot them

They drove in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the steady whirr of the engine, the sound of wind whooshing by. Ethan almost wished they could listen to the radio, but something about the silence was a comfort.

When they finally made it out of the main part of the city, Ethan said, "I hope we don't run into much traffic."

Cain looked at him, smirk already hovering around his lips. When he saw Ethan's determinedly straight face, his smile grew, then he was laughing. Ethan couldn't help but join him after a few seconds, too drunk on the fact that he was alive and that they were getting out, going somewhere new; better, leaving their hell behind.

A/N: That's it, everybody! Final chapter! Thank you all so, so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Also, for future reference, any new fanfic will be posted on my AO3 account (link in my profile). :D


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